Undertaker
by NeonZangetsu
Summary: A new vigilante has taken up arms in Gotham, dealing death to the corrupt and wicked. He leaves no fingerprints, no evidence, no witnesses to identify him. Some claim he's a man. Others, a woman. Who is he? Just what does this madman want? Will James Gordon be able to stop him? Or will he join him? First ever NarutoxGotham crossover! Pairing undecided! Be sure to vote!
1. Undertaker

**A/N: Alright! After being pestered for so long I've finally dug my claws into this idea, the first NarutoxGotham crossover. Now y'see, I didn't know where or when to place it at first, didn't want to alter too much. But then it hit me. What does Gotham have no short of? Corruption. Now, screwing around with Batman is one thing. But messing with Gotham the show...**

**...now that's a whole new can of worms. Off we go! Fair warning; A LOT of people are going to die in this fic...**

_"The Waynes deserved better."_

_~?_

**Undertaker**

_Gotham._

You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

The saying itself may be cliche, but as all sayings go, it rings with a seed of truth. Indeed, if one were to search for the definition of filth in the dictionary, they'd find a picture of this city. Gotham, as a whole is a city of corruption. Filth. Pestilence. Nowhere in the world can you find a fouler pit. Since the time of its founding, this postule of a city has been just that; a zit on the face of humanity, ever - present yet ignored. Murders take place here ever day. Children are kidnapped. Women are raped. Families, businsess, are burglarized.

Its officials turn a blind eye. The day-to-day minutia of this city is ignored, the cries of its victims left unheeded. But no longer. They say that every man has a limit; there are certain things that he will, and will not, be able to tolerate. When you push someone past the limit, well...you're about to find out what happens.

This is a story of corruption. Of death. Love. Redemption. But, most of all...

...justice.

* * *

><p>It was autumn in Gotham City.<p>

That in itself was not too surprising; the world turned on its axis, and the seasons changed, especially in this northeastern corner of the country. It was the last week of October, and the trees along the boulevard were brilliant every one of them, with scarlet, auburn, burgundy and other rich colors. They seemed to glitter in the evening. The air was still and crisp-not quite brisk-every drawn breath promised winter. The sky was quite remarkably clear, the dark shade of a little boy's blanket that had been washed too many times.

It was, all things considered, the perfect night for a murder.

The harrowing sound of a broken bone filled the park.

Aubrey James-the unfortunate Mayor of Gotham-wailed, crying out in agony as another spike was driven into his hand, nailing him to the wood.

He found himself staring into the pitiless eyes of his tormentor.

An blank slate of red and orange metal stared back at him, blue light leering furiously down from the slit where his eyes should have been. Did the man even have eyes behind the mask? Was he even human? The rest of him was wreathed in orange and crimson leathers, creaking softly as he moved. As he worked. Strung him to the tree in a grim parody of a crucifix, his hands and feet tied with zipcords, he began to realize that this was no simple extortion; this was something far worse. He saw the dry kindling at his feet, the oil being poured into the hastily-erected firepit, and his heart sank.

This man was going to _kill him. _Burn him at the stake. Like a modern day Joan of Arc...

"Why are you doing this?!"

"Why?" the scarred mask cocked aside, like a dog listening to a new sound, that stark, visor-slit-device glittering in the black. A voice like a slow moving avalanche emerged from within. "You're corrupt, my dear mayor, unfit to leead. I need no other reason." The mayor struggled, earning himself another blow. "Would you rather I repeat what you told the poor masses of Gotham? Yes, perhaps that would put your soul at ease...

The man held up a tape recorder. A gloved finger reached up, pressed play.

"_This is a case of compromising for what's best for the people of Gotham." _Aubrey's very own words from that afternoon were flung back in his face._ "The Arkham District will be developed into both low cost housing, as well as a much needed site for waste disposal. This is the best of both plans – together in one. Meanwhile, Arkham Asylum will be retrofitted to meet today's standards and re-opened. Gotham deserves a world class treatment facility for the mentally ill. I know, that were the Waynes still alive today, they would be proud of what we've accomplished."_

He clicked it off. Silence pervaded once more.

Aubrey blanched, wholly at a loss. "I...you...how did you get that?"

"Why, I was the one who asked you that very question."

Foam flecked the corners of his mouth. _"Bullshit! That's impossible!"_

"Impossible is merely that which is thought not to _be_ possible." came the cryptic answer. "That does not make it so."

This man...he was insane!

"I am dissapointed in you, mayor." the man rumbled, ignoring his crass profanity. "Do you think they, the Waynes, are proud of what you've done? They're likely rolling in their graves, even as we speak. You lead these people. You were supposed to _stand_ for something. Yet at the first sign of fear, you soil yourself and give in. What happened to integrity of your job? The honor?"

The answer was just as he'd expected

"You," he rasped, throat dry, "You won't get away with this."

The masked man chuckled, hoarse. "Oh, I will. Unlike you boring mortals, I can become anyone. Anything." Before his eyes the man seemed to vanish into plume of dry smoke, becoming a woman. Then a child. Then a man again. "I've even taken the courtesy of disabling the cameras in the park. Of course, there's the live feed I'll be transmitting, but hey, that's showbiz, ain't it?" A match was struck, sending sparks flying towards the kindling at his feet. Then another. And another. And another. Irate, the masked man growled.

"Oh, for fuck's sake-

The man raised his mask in a lightning fast motion and spat, expelling a tiny cone of fire into the pit. It caught immediately, creeping up toward his fine shoes. Aubrey thrashed wildly, kicking them free moments before the tongues of fire could touch them. The masked man flicked his fingers, and twin knives slammed into the mayor's forgotten feet, binding him back to the cross once more. The flames continued to spread. Sweat beaded upon his brow.

"L-Listen! I can pay you! I can make you rich-FUCK!"

His words trailed off in a warbling cry as a boot slammed into the joint of his knee, shattering it. "Oh God, oh Christ, oh sweet Jesus_...somebody help me!" _He howled as his feet began to warm.

"I do not want your money." the assassin answered, his voice rising over Aubrey's cries. "I've enough of that in my day job already. No, my dear mayor, there is only one thing I want. Your life." A hand rose, cradling a portable camera in palm, its light blinking as it recorded every instant of his torment. "Chin up now, Jamesy, its almost time for your show. Your piece de resistance." Strutting around him, he set the device on a nearby tripod, stepping back into full view of the tiny camcorder.

And still, Aubrey James burned.

"Good evening, people of Gotham," he began loudly. "You may not know me, but I...know you. My name is unimportant. Because I have a message for you. Do you see this man here?" his arm gestured grandly to the writhing form of Aubrey. "This, your mayor. He has betrayed you. Soon, he will be dead. His demise will be broadcast across the world. But my message is not for him. It is for you. For the common man," those fingers rose, clenching into a fist. "The downtrodden. The suppressed. Ignored. Abused. For those of you who have been beaten, oppressed and humiliated, I am your redemption. The one who will purge thise city. To those who are corrupt, I say only this.

_"Justice is coming."_

He reached down and pressd a button, ending the recording.

Smiling, he returned his attention to the mayor.

"Pretty soon this'll be all over the news, the internet and then the whole world." he said, addressing the burning figure. "You should be honored, really, mayor. You're the beginning of something that's been a long time in coming. Something...wonderful."

"I'll give you whatever you want!" he wailed! "Just make it _stoooooop!"_

"Words." his tormentor tittered softly, muttering over the crackle of their flames. "Empty. Hollow. Without meaning. I tried using those when I came here. Do you know what that got me? A bullet in the heart. Funny thing, though. That just pissed me off. But even so, I could live with it. What I cannot live with, my dear mayor, is corruption. I thought you were different. Really, I did. For awhile there, I thought you were different. But, no, you caved in just like all the rest; you let fear for your life consume you. To survive, you made a deal with the devil. And that, I cannot allow."

Aubrey could almost longer speak, his lungs were filled with fire.

"You're...insane...

"Madness is a fickle thing, my boy." The knife stroked up and down the man's throat in a lovers caress. "Leave it alone and its fine. Dandy. But, y'see, insanity is like gravity. Pressure." With that very word, he began to push the blade against his throat. "That's where its at." A tiny trickle of blood welled up at its edge, running down his adam's apple. "All it takes...is...a little...

_...push!"_

Blood spattered the street as the knife sank home in his throat, ending his torment. It was quick death. Clean. Simple. Better than he deserved. Still the fires burned, consuming his corpse. He watched for a long, awful moment, comittng the body to memory. The first of many. This city had taken someone precious from him, just as it had done to so many. But now, _now _he was taking it back.

As he slipped away into the night, Uzumaki Naruto -soon to be dubbed the Undertaker by the people of this city- idly wondered if anyone else would eventually step from concealment, accept whatever shame they truly owned in this city, and take action.

Until then, there was only one cure.

Gotham would be purged.

_He would be the cure._

**A/N: Its been awhile, h****asn't it? I've been away from the world of Batman for ages, haven't I? And if you're wondering about the mask, its vaguely like that of the one Revan wore. Scary little 'ting inn'it? That aside, there's not really much of a pairing for this one, just a means to make the criminally corrupt of Gotham pay for what they've done. By the time this story's finished, there will be blood, Falcone's, Fish's, Maroni's, and more...**

**So...in the immortal words of Atlas...**

**...Review...Would You Kindly...? And of course, enjoy the preview!**

**(Preview)**

_Click._

_The light flicked on, revealing his worst fear. He wasn't alone._

_The man inclined his head politely._

_"Good evening, detective."_

_James Gordon bristled in surprise, his hand flying to his holster. The man made no move to evade; he simply sat there, reclining on the couch. There was a moment of silence between the two of them, detective and stranger. Neither spoke. Neither moved. Gordon was fairly certain no one breathed._

_"Put your weapon away." the stranger said at last. "We're all friends here."_

_Friends? No. This man was no friend to him. He was responsible for the riots, for the fear, for the muttered words of Undertaker in lower Gotham. This was no friend of his. Instinct seized him, drawing a bead on the masked man sitting in his home. The blank face of slate regarded him emotionlessly, unflinching, uncaring of the pistol that could have easily taken his life. It was as if he had no fear of it. None at all._

_"You're the one who murered the mayor."_

_Another silence, barely a beat._

_"Yes. Are you going to arrest me?"_

_"...I'll try."_

_"I suppose you will." the mask inclined in a nod. "But if you do that, I'll have to kill you."_

_"I'd shoot you first." James growled._

_"Hardly." He scoffed. "I don't need to touch you to immobilize you, ya know. Hell, I'd destroy your gun before you could even fire"_

_"Prove it."_

_There was a moment of silence. Then:_

_"Very well-_

_BANG!_

_His hand shot up, snatching the bullet from the air._

_"I wish you hadn't done that."_

_A wave of his wrist and the weapon vanished, turning to dust in his hand. James balked; in the next instant the Undertaker was on him. A hand like iron lashed out, breaking his nose and flinging him down to the floor; a harsh click followed seconds later, followed by his remaining bullets clattering to the floor. A boot pressed into his back forcing him down to the floor._

_"I have a proposition for you."_

_"About...what?"_

_"I wanted to tell you that something is coming," he began, pushing down harder, "Something that is beyond my control. I can't stop it. Frankly, I don't want to try." Those eerie blue eyes bored into him from behind the mask, dark and flat like the waters of the bay. "__In the next week, another corrupt individual is going to die." he said. "I will be the one to kill him. Or her. I haven't decided, yet. In the next week, two. Then three. Then four. I'm sure you know where this is going detective. _

_"I will continue to slay them, one by one, until it is done. And when I am done, I will leave."_

_"That's not the way to do this!"_

_"I am not the saviour of this city." he said. "I am here to purge it. The innocent will live. The wicked will die. I will make no distinction; whomseover has committed and unjust murder, burglarized, raped, harassed, or performed any other act of evil in their heart, they will die."_

_"So you're here to tell me that you're going to kill me." James hissed._

_He couldn't see the surprise behind that slate mask, but he certainly felt it._

_"No."_

_"I wante__d to let you know that you're going to live."_

_Smoke blinded him. The boot vanished from his back, allowing him to clamor to his feet._

_The Undertaker was gone._

**R&R! =D**


	2. God's Gonna Cut You Down

**A/N: Alright! After being pestered for so long I've finally dug my claws into this idea, the first NarutoxGotham crossover. Now y'see, I didn't know where or when to place it at first, didn't want to alter too much. But then it hit me. What does Gotham have no short of? Corruption. Now, screwing around with Batman is one thing. But messing with Gotham the show...**

**...now that's a whole new can of worms. Off we go! Fair warning; A LOT of people are going to die in this fic. And YES the title refers to the song God's Gonna Cut you Down, by Johnny Cash. Which I do not own! And WOW! That's a ton of votes on the poll! Keep at it, peoplz!**

_"Sooner or later, God'll cut ya down..."_

_~?_

**God's Gonna Cut You Down**

_Word spread like wildfire._

The mayor of Gotham was dead, reduced to little more than a charred corpse in the park attached to a cross and strung up like some common criminal. Video of James Aubrey's death was broadcast citywide across Gotham; by dawn it could be seen on every social media site, was covered by every news agency. By noon it was taken down, but by then it was already too late. It had spread. Like a virus. Infecting anyone who'd had the chance to hear of it.

Last night, this nameless vigilante was just that. Nameless. Anonymous. Now his name was whispered in almost every ear. By morning he was a celebrity, simulatenously revered and reviled by the city that he'd taken up arms for and against. It would've been one thing if they'd seen his face. They would've had an identity. Because now, he had a name.

They were calling him the Undertaker.

And Renee Montoya wanted to _kill_ him. Wrap her fingers around his throat and throttle him bloody senseless for dragging her out of bed at four in the morning. For bickering with Harvey and that upstart James Gordon-God she hated him!-beating them back with a stick to claim the case. Now she found herself almost wishing she hadn't.

Her superiors were breathing down her neck. The fading coffee high she was riding ebbed on as she sat here, trapped here behind her desk, studying the footage. It was already well past twelve, and, she could feel the strain setting in. The beginnings of a migraine began to beat at the back of her brain, pounding in her ears like the drums of a great hunt out for her blood.

And there would be blood. Of that much she was certain.

She wasn't entirely "with the program" as some put it, but even _she_ recognized that offing the mayor would cause entail rammifications, political and otherwise. The power vaccum created by the Wayne's death had all but exploded now. Bad enough that they'd been gunned down by some unknown john doe, but now, only a few weeks-or was it months?-later, the mayor had been dragged out of his posh upstate home and burned at the stake like an overgrown pig, left to rot for the crows.

They were already hearing of riots in the southern part of the city. People were calling for the newly dubbed "Undertaker" to do what a previous vigilante, the "Balloon Man" currently incarcerated, had failed to do. As if he'd picked up right where Davis Lamond had left off. Another vigilante.

Another pain in her ass.

Even so, Renee found her eyes glued to the screen, riveted by the footage of this killing over and over again. There was an artful savagery to it that nagged at her heart; a niggling doubt that insisted she was missing a crucial, critical clue. James Aubrey-she couldn't think of that charred shriveled corpse in the morgue as Gotham's mayor, not anymore-had been crucified through the hands and feet, then, soaked in oil and _burned._ This wasn't just some crime of passion, mindless and senseless in its brutality.

This smacked of deliberation. The killer had taken his time with Aubrey. Perhaps she was wrong. Maybe it _was _personal? Renee prided herself on being able to read people and in her eyes, his act smacked of retaliation. A man pushed too far, lashing out at those who'd hur thim.

Regardless of what she thought, the killer was clearly trying to send a message of some sort. And her superiors wanted to know what it was. Before he struck again.

But just what the hell did they expect her to find? The bastard was wearing a godamned mask-fitting given this time of season-and there weren't any defining features to be seen in the black attire he wore. He was tall, and broad of shoulders, his predatory gait suggested a hidden athleticism belied by those swift steps. Those traits didn't worry her so much as the speech itself. It was those words. The way he spoke. Like a fanatic; an angry religious zealot, fierce and determined to see his cause brought to fruition. It...frightened her. And yet, it also excited a part-a very small one!-of Renee Montoya. Rooted. If nothing else, this psycho had a flair for drama.

Her finger reached down, pressing play once more.

Before her eyes the scene played out once more, the Undertaker standing before the camera, fist clenched towards the night sky. Behind him, James Aubrey shrieked and wailed on the cross, his burning body thrashing too and fro amidst the tongues of fire like some great demon fresh out of hell. Shadows danced along the vigilante's body as he spoke, his figure twisting and shifting in the flickering lum. He was still speaking, but with the volumed lowered, Montoya was able to tune his muted words out to an extent.

She was able to focus.

As ever, the red and orange slate of the Undertaker's mask offered no clue as to the man within, this grim spectre standing tall and proud in the night. His words were impassioned-ferverent-as though he truly believed in what he was saying. Perhaps he did. And then, as if he were speaking directly to here, that hooded mask leaned forward, obliterating the view of the cross, and filling the camera's frame. Renee thought she caught a flash of blue-his eyes, maybe?-behind the gleaming visor of that mask. She tried to imagine the face behind it, the visage of the madman responsible.

_"Justice is coming."_

Rewind. Play.

_"Justice is coming."_

Rewind. Play.

Again.

_"Justice is coming."_

It was almost two before there was a chance for lunch. Until then her desk was snow-banked with demanding papers, the telephone rang constantly and an army of insistent visitors attacked her walls with requests for work. By twelve, her nerves were pulled like violin strings knobbed to their tightest. By one, the strings drew close to shearing; by one-thirty they began to snap. Renee had to get away now; immediately; flee to some shadowy restaurant booth, have a cocktail and a leisurely meal; listen to somnolent music.

She had to.

For her sake, if not that of the rest of major crimes. Furious, she flung a hand across her desk, scattering the hapless papers to the wind and cross the floor. She wasn't getting anywhere with this damnded thing, trying to picture the face behind the mask was a waste of time! What's more, she felt like an idiot for staring at the screen for more than an hour,

_"Justice is-_

"Any luck?"

"Jesus!"

She started upright out of her chair as her partner suddenly made himself known.

"Whoa, there." Allen raised his palms as though to fend off a blow, clutching a sub in either hand. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I brought lunch." He gave his right hand a slight wag as to indicate which one belonged to her. "Extra cheese, right?" Montoya felt her eyes light up at the prospect of a meal; moreso that he'd remembered than the actual gesture. With a grin matching her appetite, and having skipped breakfast, Renee all but squealed and ripped the parcel from his hand..

"Thank God!"

She was so hungry she nearly considered eating the paper wrapping itself but thought better of it, pausing just only just long enough to rip it away. Then she sank into her chair and took a _big _bite. It was heaven. After eating nothing more than a bit of bread this morning, the prospect of a real meal made her mouth water.

"Where'd you get these, anyway?" she asked between large, healthy bites. "Thought you were too cheap to get lunch." It was true, most of Allen's paycheck went to pay for his exorbiant...lifestyle. Drugs. Women. She didn't want to know what else he wasted himself on; she simply wished that he wouldn't _live_ the way he did. Nothing she could fix. This was Gotham. Corruption was everywhere. Didn't mean she had to like it, though, that much was for certain.

Crispus grinned as Montoya tore off another bite. "Janitor let me some cash. Said he had some extra dough."

Of course he did. "Who, Larry?"

His dark brow creased in a grin.

"Yeah, oldtimer said he was feeling generous. Who knew, eh?" He jerked a thumb toward the lower floor, down the stairs. Sure enough there he was, diligently mopping just beside the metal detectors and outside the bathroomrs; his wizened brow creased in a happy smile as he waved up at them. Larry, she believed his name was. She'd seen him countless times in the last year but never bothered to speak with the old timer until now. Now, Renee all but jumped at the chance to leave her desk, even if only for a little while.

Without thinking, she left her chair, wanting to thank him.

She should've known, then. Should've suspsected. But her mind, still fuzzy from lack of sleep, failed to comprehend it. He was just being friendly, she told herself, rising from her seat. The old man's grin grew as she came down the steps, passed through the metal detector, and emerged out the other side.

"Hey, Larry."

He looked up as she approached, smiling toothly.

"Ah, Renee. Beautiful as ever, I see."

"Flatterer." She smiled demurely for his sake. "So, I hear you paid for my lunch."

The man gave a wet laugh. "Yes, yes. That was me. You fine folks work so hard; you deserve a little extra now and then. So," he leaned in conspiratorially, "Didya find that Undertaker feller yet?"

"Not yet," she sank her teeth into her lower lip, stifling a sigh. "But we will."

"Man like that, you don't find him." the janitor shook his head, his voice a dry rasp. "He finds you."

Montoya's stomach became a mass of knots. She was quite aware that Larry was kind to everyone liked me in his own grandfatherly way. But the way he'd spoken just now; perhaps she was being paranoid, but those words didn't sound like the words of a brow-beaten janitor. Call it woman's intuition, but in that odddd instance, she suspected something. But it was just that. A suspicion. Nothing more. Turning with a roll of the eyes, she strode back up the stairs, but not before calling out:

"Keep up the good work, Larry."

"Yessim!"

"Larry" watched her a moment longer, his eyes following the bouncing curtain of her ebon tresses. Such a nice girl. Then he went back to work.

He whistled tunelessly to himself as he continued to mop the police headquarters, restraining a laugh as Gotham writhed around him like chickens with their heads chopped off. To the naked eye he looked nothing like himself; his skin pockmarked with wrinkle upon wrinkles-his face masked behind a bristly white beard, head hidden in a faded ball cap. This _henge_ made him look old and frail, concealed the power thrumming beneath his skin, pulsating in his veins.

Dragging the mop heavily across the floor and tossing it into the bucket, _Uzumaki Naruto_ waited five seconds. Until he was certain no one was watching. Then, the "janitor" walked away, bucket and all, whistling softly as he entered a nearby bathroom.

When he remerged only seconds later, "Larry" was nowhere to be seen.

In place of the scraggly janitor stood a man with ebon hair, pale features, a hawkish fasce, and dark, charcoal eyes. Gone was the stained attire of the weak old man-in its place stood a figure straight out of the past; a guise not called upon for quite some time, clad in a simple-looking grey hoodie and blue jeans. "Uchiha Sasuke" rolled his slim shoulders with a small sigh-adjusting to the new facade for a moment while simultaneously fighting the urge to call out to Montoya. He warred with indecision for all of an instant. In the end, he gave into temptation. It was just too much to not mess with her.

"Say." he called, in the clear, crisp voice of his old friend. "Montoya-san."

Sure enough she turned, confused, baffled. Who was this?

"Who're-?"

"Good luck." Naruto laughed and blew her a kiss, leaving her dumbfounded. "Yer gonna need it."

Then he spun on one heel and walked out the door.

Within minutes, he was gone.

The Undertaker chortled quietly to himself as he walked, mingling with the commonfolk with otherwordly ease. Right under their noses-elbow to elbow-and yet they couldn't see the forest for the trees. It would've been so easy to simply poison their food and fell the two detectives; in fact, it had taken a physical effort not to do so. He did not see the police, even those in Major Crimes, as his allies. Some, like Montoya, were genuinely trying to do their jobs. Some, like that Gordon boy, meant well. Others...well, he'd lost _her _because of that. Her kindess had gotten her killed.

In that instant, he heard a scream.

"Hey! That's my purse!"

Dark eyes flashed to the right, just in time to catch a stout man darting towards him, purse in hand. Behind him, a young girl-probably no more than seventeen-cried out and pointed. Naruto stopped, and planted a foot-widened his stance an inch-standing stock still as the crowd parted around him, fleeing away from the man and the knife in his hand. The thief saw him and waved the weapon wildly in an arc ahead of him, not slowing for an instant as he barreled down the street.

"Get out of the way, man!"

Naruto didn't flee. He simply moved.

_"Seya!"_

His hand flashed out, clotheslining the man as he ran headlong into him. The burglar gagged, his knife crushing itself flat against the shinobi's stomach, trachea crushed by the impenetrable wall that was the Uzumaki's arm. Now it was his turn to cry out, screaming in pain as his head slammed into the unyielding sidewalk.

His victim soon found himself divested of his prize, the purse pried from his numbed fingers.

The would-be-burglar was left staring up in stupefacation at the ruined dagger in his hand, the metal flattened into a crumpled line against what'd once been the hilt. Sure enough, there was a hole in the ninja's hoodie, but no wound. Gasping for air, he struggled to stare up at the man who'd felled him.

"What the hell are y-

_"Death."_

A savage stomp closed down on his chest, shattering his ribs and causing his heart to explode. The sound was lost over the the roar of a nearby truck. Someone shrieked.

"Holy...I think he's dead!"

Naruto straightened, a satisfied look flashing in his eyes. Some stared back at him with awe. Others, revulsion. In that moment, the full weight of his task-his mission-crashed down around him once more.

Loneliness wasn't something he liked to admit, but he felt the keen jab of her abscence nonetheless in this moment. She'd disapprove of this; he knew that for certain. His love had been a gentle soul; she did not like to hurt unless the need called for it. But he wasn't so gentle. She was gone because of this place, the city had gone to hell...and now it would reap what it sowed. In spades. He paused just long enough to return the purse to the bedazzled girl as she ran up to him. Committed her relief to memory-reminding him of why he fought-accepted her thanks, then continued on.

Smirking at thought of what-the vengenace-that was to come, he began to sing a merry tune as he strode down the block.

"Sooner or later, sooner or later, God's gonna cut ya down...

Justice was coming.

* * *

><p>It arrived at the door of the Wayne Manor later that evening.<p>

The doorbell rang but once, its clear crisp call filling the halls of the manor with dulcet tones before fading away into the gloom. No one answered. Naruto -divested of his casual attire and himself once more- considered ringing it for a second time. But just as his gloved finger hovered over the button, the door swung open, revaling an unexpected face. Naruto felt a small frown pulll at the corners of his mouth before realization dawned upon him, illuminating the situation. Ah, yes. The butler. He'd never met him.

Alfred Pennyworth blinked back at him in confusion, squinting at this stranger in dark robes. He took him in at a glance, frowned. "Can I help you?"

"Good evening." he smiled. "Is the master Bruce at home?"

The frown deepened. "I don't see as I should answer that, sir."

Naruto sighed resisting the urge to simply force his way in. He wasn't here as the Undertaker, but as an old friend of the family, paying a long overdue visit to a very lonely little boy. And by the Log, he wasn't about to be kept out by an over-protective butler!

"I was a...good friend of the Waynes." he said, exuding honesty. "I mean him no harm."

"I don't believe we've met."

"No." A blink, and the butler thought he saw pain flash in those bright blue eyes. "We have not. It was...before your time."

Alfred wasn't buying it.

"Perhaps you should leave-

So much for being prudent.

"Christ, man!" The blond thrust a foot into the door, stopping him cold even as the door threatened to slam in his face. "I'll just be a moment!" When the butler resisted still, he forfeited subtletly entirely-shouldering his way past the younger man and into the manor. It was like pushing through paper, requiring only the most menial of efforts.

"Now hold on just a minute-!"

Though Alfred struggled and strained against him, he couldn't budge the man. He may was well have been a little girl pushing on a brick wall for all the progress he made. Naruto nudged him aside, ignoring all attempts made to restrain and impede his movements. He stepped into the foyer, glancing about-

"It's alright, Alfred."

There he was.

Naruto turned at the sound of the voice, schooling his features back into serenity, masking the irritation he'd felt only moments ago. He laid eyes on him, this youth in a drab grey sweater and pants;those young eyes a pit of suppressed pain and suffering beneath his dark hair, messy from sleep. He stood at the foot of the staires staring at him. And he was not afraid.

With unbearable foreboding, Naruto cleared his throat. _"Bruce."_ the sound came out as a tiny croak of sound. Thomas and Martha's child. The son of the man and woman who'd helped him and _her_ get back on their feet in this world. The progeny of perhaps the kindest, most caring people in Gotham. There, before his very eyes, staring back at him. Alfred loosened his grasp in sheer disbelief; those weren't the words of some burglar come to steal from them, nor a killer skulking in the night.

The Shinobi quickly reigned himself in again, strangling the surge of sympathy that threatened to overwhelm him and reduce him to a blubbering wreck. A part of him wanted to rush up to the boy and embrace him, to promise him that everything would be alright. He was going to fix this, all of this, make everything better. Then he remembered that this wasn't some noble goal of his, he wasn't doing this for Bruce. His actions helped him indirectly, yes, but his reasons for taking the fight to the scum of Gotham stemmed from his own anger at the injustice here. He was no think otherwise was just...foolish.

With that thought in mind, he pulled out the mask.

Alfred froze, recognizing the slate edifice immediately. Before Naruto could do anything else he and threw himself between them, arms splayed.

"Y-You...!" he sputtered, indignant with rage. "You stay away from him, do you hear me?! He's done nothing! He's just a boy!"

Naruto did not don the mask. He simply held it in his hand.

"Calm yourself. I'm not hear to hurt either of you." he put the mask away, and his eyes cut back to Bruce again. "I don't suppose you know who I am, do you, son?"

A shake of the head.

Naruto chuckled; the first true laugh he'd made since losing _her_ so long ago. "Ah, its just as well. It's a long story. Lets just say I'm a good friend of your father, an' I'm here to bring you a bit of news. C'mon." Without another word, he strode into the den, leaving the last of the Wayne's and his butler to follow. He claimed a seat on the sofa, waiting for the boy to join him. Eventually, he did. Those dark eyes, so old for his age-gazed back at him with a quiet severity that bellied his age. Before that painful gaze, even with all his years, Naruto felt young.

"Who are you?" he pressed. "How do you know my parents?"

Naruto weighed the question for a moment, considering.

"I'm afraid I can't give you my name." he said at last. "I wish I could, really, I do, but I can't. As to the how, well, they took good care of me and a...friend, when I first came here. I was in pretty sorry shape when they found us but thanks to them, I was able to get back on my feet. Your father was good to me-he was like a brother, even. I stayed with him and your mother for awhile-right up until you were born. Huh." His expression turned wistful. "Guess that makes me an uncle, or something...

"Oh." Bruce blinked, disbelieving. "That's...odd. Are you sure you can't tell me your name?"

"Undertaker, then. That seems to be the title they've given me."

"Fitting." Alfred muttered. "You smell like death."

"Shut up, jeeves." Naruto snapped off a one-fingered salute at the butler.

"I am a man of discerning taste, master Wayne." he continued, turning the worn facade of his mask end over end in his hand. "I prefer the finer things in life; love, peace, prosperity, justice. I find that this city...lacks the latter. Hence my...act of war last night. But I digress. Here. This is the reason I came." A hand dipped into his jacket, extracting a photo. He threw it down on the table. Revealed was a grungy looking man, stocky, middle-aged. There was a silence. Alfred frowned.

"The bloody hell is that?"

"Joe Chill." he answered, the unspoken question, stabbing a finger into the faded photograph. "That's the name of the man who murdered your parents, Bruce. I'm going to find him, hunt him down-and I'm going to kill him. I thought you should know-no, you deserve to know. Gotham is going to be...dangerous for awhile, even after that. I want you to stay here. The both of you."

"But detective Gordon said...?"

"I'm already paying him a visit."

"How-

With that word, Naruto-the clone-vanished in a plume of smoke.

Alfred blinked.

"W-Well, then...

* * *

><p>James Gordon came home and found himself alone.<p>

Ever since Barbara'd left, James home had felt empty. Vacant, somehow. He supposed the same could be said of his heart. Losing her was like losing a limb. She was a part of him. His everything. And now, because of this damned city, this city that seemed to take a peace of him day by bitter day, he'd lost her. Numb and weary from a long day at work, he reached out to thumb on the light.

_Click._

Nothing happened.

_Click._

"The hell...?"

"Here," a voice crooned from the darkness, "Allow me."

The light flicked on beneath his thumb at the third touch, revealing Jame's worst fear. He wasn't alone.

The man inclined his head politely.

"Good evening, detective."

James Gordon bristled in surprise, his hand flying to his holster. The man made no move to evade; he simply sat there, reclining on the couch. There was a moment of silence between the two of them, detective and stranger. Neither spoke. Neither moved. Gordon was fairly certain no one breathed.

"Put your weapon away." the stranger said at last. "We're all friends here."

Friends? No. This man was no friend to him. He was responsible for the riots, for the fear, for the muttered words of Undertaker in lower Gotham. This was no friend of his. Instinct seized him, drawing a bead on the masked man sitting in his home. The blank face of slate regarded him emotionlessly, unflinching, uncaring of the pistol that could have easily taken his life. It was as if he had no fear of it. None at all.

"You're the one who murered the mayor."

Another silence, barely a beat.

"Yes. Are you going to arrest me?"

"...I'll try."

"I suppose you will." the mask inclined in a nod. "But if you do that, I'll have to kill you."

"I'd shoot you first." James growled.

"Hardly." He scoffed. "I don't need to touch you to immobilize you, ya know. Hell, I'd destroy your gun before you could even fire."

"Prove it."

There was a moment of silence. Then:

"Very well-

_BANG!_

His hand shot up, snatching the bullet from the air.

"I wish you hadn't done that."

A wave of his wrist and the weapon flew forward, flying from James' hand and into his own, facing forward at him. "Cool, huh?" He laughed, twirling the weapon within his fingers. "I'm a regular Darth Vader with this trick. But," Just like that, the laughter evaporated. "I suppose we should get down to business."

Gordon balked back in disbelief and tried to step forward; in the next instant the Undertaker was on him. A hand like iron lashed out, breaking his nose and flinging him down to the floor; a harsh click followed seconds later, followed by his remaining bullets clattering to the carpet. A boot pressed into his back, forcing him down when he tried to resist. Remarkably, the killer didn't end him. Instead, he spoke.

"I have a proposition for you, Gordon."

"About...what?"

"I wanted to tell you that something is coming," he began, pushing down harder, "Something that is beyond my control. I can't stop it. Frankly, I don't want to try." Those eerie blue eyes bored into him from behind the mask, dark and flat like the waters of the bay. "In the next week, another corrupt individual is going to die." he said. "I will be the one to kill him. Or her. I haven't decided, yet. In the next week, two. Then three. Then four. I'm sure you know where this is going detective.

"I will continue to slay them, one by one, until it is done. And when I am done, I will leave."

"That's not the way to do this!"

"I am not the saviour of this city." he said. "I am here to purge it. The innocent will live. The wicked will die. I will make no distinction; whomseover has committed and unjust murder, burglarized, raped, harassed, or performed any other act of evil in their heart, they will die."

"So you're here to tell me that you're going to kill me." James hissed.

He couldn't see the surprise behind that slate mask, but he certainly felt it.

"No."

"I wanted to let you know that you're going to live."

Smoke blinded him. The boot vanished from his back, allowing him to clamor to his feet.

The Undertaker was gone.

**A/N: Its been awhile, h****asn't it? I've been away from the world of Batman for ages, haven't I? And if you're wondering about the mask, its vaguely like that of the one Revan wore. Scary little 'ting inn'it? That aside, there's not really much of a pairing for this one, just a means to make the criminally corrupt of Gotham pay for what they've done. By the time this story's finished, there will be blood, Falcone's, Fish's, Maroni's, and more. Someone also mentioned the idea of taking Naruto's brand of justice to the rest of the DC universe once he's done with Gotham. Let's just say...**

**...I'm considering it.**

**So...in the immortal words of Atlas...**

**...Review...Would You Kindly...? And of course, enjoy the preview! Its twofold this time! Hope ya'll like it!**

**(Preview)**

_"Breaking and entering this time, are we?"_

_Selina Kyle stiffened, half-frozen with one leg hanging out of the window, the other half planted firmly in the room. With an audible gulp she turned her head, despite knowing what she would find there. A blank slate of red and orange iron stared back at her from a hooded face, its visor glinting an angry red in the dim lights. He was here. Stupid, she swiftly reprimanded herself. This was his home, after all. Why wouldn't he be here?_

_"Um..._

_The Undertaker rose smoothly from the ruined chair in a single motion of movement-his long legs devouring the distance between them as he crossed the room to her. Startled by his unexpected arrival, she tried-failed-to hide the carton of milk behind her back. There was no fear as she stared into that angry red slit, only a soft, sheepish embarassment at being caught redhanded. Again._

_"I didn't steal anything this time." she said swiftly, knowing he was going to ask of her afternoon accomplishments._

_An audible exhalation sounded behind the mask._

_"Selina."_

_The girl wilted beneath his piercing stare. "Alright," She dug a hand into her pocket, revealing the one, two, three -four!- wallets she'd stolen. Profferring them to him, she scurried past the vigilanted and darted into the kitchen for a snack. He let her go, rifling through what she'd taken, thumbing down the bills. An unamused snort sounded through the slate of his mask._

_"You're getting better."_

_"I know, right?" Her curls poked out from behind the fridge door for a brief moment before dissappearing once more._

_"That wasn't a compliment."_

_He thumbed up the mask, exposing pale, ice-blue eyes and whiskered cheeks. He was not smiling._

_Naruto sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"_

_"Let me keep the money?" Selina pleaded with wide eyes, feigning a pout._

_"Like I let you keep that cat?"_

_"Urk."_

_He'd sworn to slay any who were corrupt. Selina was the sole exception. She stole because she knew no other life; she stole to survive. She didn't hurt, didn't rape, didn't maim, or kill. There was a saying he had once heard in his youth; pity the child, not the parents. And he did. He wasn't her father, but he may as well have been for all he looked after her. He'd encountered her only last year, back when he still had faith in the city, when he'd hope in the city. Now he popped in on occassion, just to make sure she was still alright._

_Naruto clucked softly. She was his little girl; the exception to the rule._

_She always would be._

_The Undertaker walked out into the night._

* * *

><p><em>"Now, lets see whose behind that mask." Falcone smiled amiacably.<em>

_The Undertaker cocked his head aside, like a dog listening to a new sound. He inhaled, drinking deep the salty smell of the harbor. A single word issued from from his mask._

_"No."_

_Falcone waved his revolver slowly-lazily, finger on the trigger, beckoning two of his men forward to disarm him. Naruto flicked both wrists, and their approach ended abruptly, just as it had begun. Kunai dropped from his sleeves into his awiaiting hands; eliciting an instant's hesitation from each of the gunmen. It was more than enough. Another flick sent the knives blurring into motion in a glint of steel, streaking like lightning unto their throats, severing their trachea in the blink of an eye. Gurgling, they collapsed to the floor in pools of their own blood. His boots crushed down seconds later, pulping their heads._

_Two down._

_"Defiant to the end, eh? You won't cry like Moroni, will you?" His eyes searched his mask, scathingly. "You're not afraid of death. You're like me."_

_"The only thing we have in common is our love of violence." The Undertaker replied, discarding his bloodied kunai with a flourish. "The difference being, I use mine for good. But you?" A gloved hand rose, pointing upon him with angry temerity. "I've seen your type before. You're a cancer. A sore. A postule on the face of this city. You waltz on in, step over everbody, take whatever it is you want, and kill whomever gets in your way. A smart man doesn't invite his enemies into his den. He kills them._

_"Y-You've got nothing now." one of his men, laughed at what he thought to be folly. "Nothing but your bloody knives and your fancy karate gimmicks. We have guns."_

_Naruto chortled; it was a deep, throaty chuckle._

_"No, my dear man," he goaded," what you have are bullets, and the hope that when your guns are empty I'm no longer be standing," somehow, that crimson slit in his mask seemed to glow as he continued, "Because if I am**...you'll all be dead before you've reloaded."**_

_Falcone frowned._

_"Impossible."_

_"I believe I've already told you lot what I think of the impossible." came the reply. "Nothing is impossible for me." He stepped forward. The mobster flinched, hurriedly raising his weapon. A touch of very real fear flew across his face, like a startled gull taking flight._

_"Kill him."_

_As one, the rifles rose. And then there was fire._

_The Undertaker twitched, his body spasming as a dozen gunmen opened fire. Automatic rifles roared furiously, a steady stream coursing forward faster than the eye could see._

_Wave upon wave of molten death slammed into him, bullets ripping bloody holes into his body. He bent low. Then, incredibly, he straightened. Stood. Unflinching, like a rock weathering a storm, he stood tall, rising up from his pained crouch as clip after clip clicked empty. Falcone froze. Several bullet had smashed into his mask, shattering part of it-exposing a single, blue iris to the world. Before Falcone's very eyes, that eye turned red, its scarlet, slitted pupil leering at him through the hole in the Undertaker's facade. _

_A soft, sibiliant hiss trickled through the air._

_"My turn."_

_And all hell broke loose._

**R&R! =D**


	3. See What I've Become

**A/N: Alright! After being pestered for so long I've finally dug my claws into this idea, the first NarutoxGotham crossover. Now y'see, I didn't know where or when to place it at first, didn't want to alter too much. But then it hit me. What does Gotham have no short of? Corruption. Now, screwing around with Batman is one thing. But messing with Gotham the show...**

**...now that's a whole new can of worms. Off we go into the deep once more! And once again a warning; A LOT of people are going to die in this fic. It will be violent. There will be blood. Sorrow, a fair bit of death. And YES the title refers to the exact song by the masterful Zack Hemsey, which I recommend for this chapter, See What I've Become. Which I do not own! And WOW! That's a ton of votes on the poll! Keep at it, peoplz! To clarify, there is a brief rendition of the Viper episode within, but...VERY DIFFERENT. Watch the actual episode, or you'll be hopelessly confused!**

**Also, got a ton of ideas from a certain movie involving a certain actor. Keneau Reeves. Recognize the quote? I've edited it slightly for the purpose of this story.**

**Lets see if you recognize it:**

_"Its not what you did, son; its who you did it to."_

_"Tha-that fucking nobody?"_

**_"That 'fucking nobody' had a name, you little shit. She was my wife. And you fucking shot her."_**

_~(The last words heard by an unfortunate criminal before his demise.)_

**See What I've Become**

_Men do not fear swords. Nor do they fear bullets. Or even the elements. They fear monsters._

_That was what the Undertaker swiftly became to the corrupt of Gotham; a symbol. An icon. A relentless force that brought hell to his enemies and stood up for those who could not. Within the first week of the mayor's death a price was put out on my head. A rather hefty one at that. I had yet to kill anyone else of signifcant import beyond the occassional crook and already, the criminals wanted me gone. They were nervous. Anxious. The seeds of doubt and fear had been planted in their blackened hearts. _

_Better yet, detective Gordon seemed amiable to my way of thinking. Perhaps Montoya as well. Just what I wanted. No one, not they, not Maroni, not Falcone, not the scum of Gotham, had any idea who my next target was, nor what I was planning._

_What I did next sent them squealing like little pigs._

* * *

><p><em>"Breaking and entering this time, are we?"<em>

Selina Kyle stiffened in surprise, a cold hand of shock taking hold of her. Every muscle in her body clamped down. She froze, unmoving, with one leg hanging out a window, the other planted firmly in the room. Behind her shards of early bright afternoon sunlight stabbed into the penthouse like bright knives, illuminating a lone chair only a few feet away, exposing a shrouded figure in her peripheals.

"I'm waiting." they said.

With an audible gulp she turned her head in dread, already knowing what she would find there. A blank slate of red and orange iron stared back at her from a hooded face, its visor glinting an angry red in the dim light of Gotham City. He was here. _Stupid,_ she swiftly reprimanded herself. _Stupid girl._ This was his home, after all. Why wouldn't he be here?

"Um...

The Undertaker rose smoothly from the ruined chair in a single motion of movement-his long legs devouring the distance between them as he crossed the room to her. Startled by his unexpected arrival, she tried-failed-to hide the carton of milk behind her back. There was no fear as she stared into that angry red slit, only a soft, sheepish embarassment at being caught redhanded. _Again._

"I didn't steal anything this time." she said swiftly, knowing he was going to ask of her afternoon accomplishments. "I, ah, just came for breakfast."

An audible exhalation sounded behind the mask.

_"Selina."_

The girl wilted beneath his piercing stare. "Alright," She dug a hand into her pocket with a small whine, revealing the one, two, three -four!- wallets she'd stolen. Profferring them to him with her free hand, she scurried past the vigilante and darted into the kitchen for a snack. He let her go, rifling through what she'd taken, thumbing down the bills. An unamused snort sounded through the slate of his mask.

"You're getting better."

"I know, right?" Her curls poked out from behind the fridge door for a brief moment before dissappearing once more. "By the way, I ran into detective Gordon recently."

"Did you now?" she heard a soft clicke as he adjusted the optics in his mask. "What did he say?"

"Didn't say anything." came the chirrup. "I caught him on lunch. He caught _me _trying to steal a wallet."

"I assume you got away clean?"

One more her curly head poked out over the fridge. "You _do _know who you're talking to, right?"

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Thanks!"

"That wasn't a compliment, dattebayo." Naruto drawled out a sigh, slumping into the chair for a second time. He thumbed up the mask, exposing pale, ice-blue eyes and whiskered cheeks. He was not smiling. Choosing the safety of the fridge over her father figure's wrath, Selina continued the arduous task of rummaging through his foodstuffs. Her nose curled at what she found there.

"Gah, don't you eat anything other than ramen and pasta, pops?" she hissed immediately afterward, cursing herself for the slip. It happened sometimes. Like now. But he wasn't her father. He wasn't. She didn't trust a man with powers like his, someone who could snap her neck as easily as he could say hello to her. She wanted to...but a life on the streets wasn't something you shook off easily. He might've prevented Falcone's goons from raping her back then, yet even so, she was still wary around him.

Naruto gave a wounded snort, but didn't challenge her any further.

"Hey, grab me something, will you?"

An impish grin stole across her face, her dark mood swept away by the mischevious smirk.

"Yes, your ramenness."

"I don't want ramen this time, give me something el-

_"Catch!"_ With catlike reflexes, Selina snagged an apple and slung it toward him over a shoulder. A hand rose without glancing back, snatching out of it midair. Seconds later, she heard his teeth sink into the fruit with a loud crunch, followed by several moments of loud chewing. She listened as he got up again and methodically stripped himself of body armor, setting the individual pieces out on a nearby table before beginning the long task of checking his equiptment. Catgirl considered herself an adept thief given her age and upbringing, but Naruto-Undertaker, she reminded herself-made her look like a newborn fumbling with building blocks.

Humming tunelessly to himself, he pulled the harness away from his body, setting it down beside his collection of darts. Nasty little things, those. An iron bolt through the throat wasn't something she envied, nor was a sleeping one striking you at an untimely moment. Then there were the incendiary arrows. Selina had never seen them in action, but she could guess.

He possessed all manner of intricately odd gadgets; including the wrist mounted blades on his arms. A flick of his fingers and they'd shoot forward, impaing anyone within arms reach. She caught a flash of red on those dark blades and quickly glanced away, knowing he'd killed again last night. His...night life wasn't something they discussed often. He fed her, gave her a place to sleep every now and again, and in return, she didn't ask any questions. Well, not too many.

But, as ever, curiosity got the better of her. Creeping over, she peered at his workbench. Just one of those blades would fetch a nice price_-ow!_

"Ah," he raised his hand, ready to swat her on the arm again. "Don't touch."

"Cheap." she muttered, putting the dagger back.

"Not cheap. Pratical." Naruto sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Let me keep the money, at least." Selina pleaded with wide eyes, feigning a pout. Naruto held the wallets toward her; then he raised his hand. "Girl's gotta make a living."

"Like I let you keep that cat?"

_"Urk."_

The Undertaker sighed again, louder this time. He gave her the wallets anyway, and she tucked them into her pockets. Then he fell silent.

"Hey," he said at last. "Come here."

She did as she was told, tongue in cheek. One hop and she cleared the counter, leaping onto the couch. Her agility always amazed him; in another life, she would've made a fine shinobi. It seemed that even in this odd universe, there were those who had talents similar to his.

"What do you see when you look at me?" he asked suddenly.

Selina frowned.

"A man in a mask."

He removed it.

"And now?"

"Someone else." she paused, considering. "Someone...good."

Naruto shook his head. "If you really knew me, kid, you'd say otherwise. Which reminds me, " He held out a hand towards her, fingers cupped. "Fork it over."

Selina blanched, fidgeting with her goggles. "How did you know?"

"I know everything." he said simply, tapping a finger to his head. "Now_...give."_

She dipped a hand into her pocket, withdrawing a small vial of green liquid. Naruto went tense at the sight, snatching it out of her hand immediately.

"Where did you get this?" he hissed.

She shrugged. "Stole it out of somebody's pocket. Why? What is it?"

_"Viper."_ He tossed the vial out the window in disgust, the tinny sound of shattering glass reaching their ears moments later. "A drug related to Venom. It'll give you incredible strength...at the cost of your life." He gave her an iron glare. "I don't want you to steal this anymore." Selina was about to protest the decision, knowing how valuable it was, but something in the blond's eye stilled her tongue. Concern. He actuallly cared for her well-being enough to forbid her from snatching the drug a second time. If that wasn't empathy, she didn't know what was

...kay." she relented.

"That's my girl."

Naruto kissed her softly on the forehead. Selina squirmed slightly, but didn't resist.

He'd sworn to slay any who were corrupt. Selina was the sole exception. She stole because she knew no other life; she stole to survive. She didn't hurt, didn't rape, didn't maim, or kill. There was a saying he had once heard in his youth; pity the child, not the parents. And he did. He wasn't her father, but he may as well have been for all he looked after her. He'd encountered her only last year, back when he still had faith in the city, when he'd hope in the city. Now he popped in on occassion, just to make sure she was still alright. Or she popped in on him, reminding him that she was still alive.

Naruto clucked softly. She was his little girl; the exception to the rule.

She always would be.

But the rest...

"You're not going to stop, are you?" her words jerked him out of his reverie.

Walking away, he turned his gaze to the window from which she'd entered. A gloved hand squished against it, fogging the glass.

"I promised that I would never go back to being that person. That I would never become this _thing_ ever again." he pressed his palm harder against the pane, looking down at the mask in his hand. "But when somebody does something unspeakable, you do something about it 'cuz you can. You gotta be who you gotta be in this world. Simple as that. I'm good at killing. Always have been. At first I didn't like it; taking lives. I guess over time you get used to it. Turn numb."

"You can be mad as a mad dog at the way things went; you can swear and curse the fates - but when it comes to the end, you have to let go."

Her words startled him. This, coming from a little girl? He stared down at her in disbelief for a long moment. Then he frowned. Let go? _Let go?_ How was he supposed to let go when _her _killers were still out there? When this city had gone to hell, and no one was doing anything to save -purge!- the taint, leech the infection away? Gotham was a city infested with weeds; the weeds had to go. To cease, to stopwhat he was doing, was the same as giving up. As letting the man who'd killed her go free. He knew where he was, knew who he was, and she wanted him to stop? To let them get away with it?

_LIKE HELL!_

Until now, he'd planned to make that man squirm in fear, writhe in terror as his world came apart. But now, incensed by Selina's words, he changed his mind. Accelerated his plans.

"I can never let go."

Infuriated, he jerked the mask down over his head and strapped his equiptment back on. Selina looked at him in disbelief. He was going out? In the day? He'd never done that before!

"What are you doing?"

"Something that should've been done a lone time ago."

And then he dropped.

Naruto vanished once more, his kind persona dissappearing beneath the mask, buried as _Undertaker_ leapt out the window and landed in the light of day. He leapt again, a violent bound carrying him out of the alleyway and into the city. Forsaking the rooftops in favor of the streets he landed in a pointed crouch, smashing down into the sidewalk with an audible crunch. The effect was as immediate as it was pleasing; his landing kicked up dust and debris lin a small mushroom cloud, causing nearly everyone in and on the street to stop and look at him.

Traffic stopped.

Vehicles on the way to the early morning commute slammed into one another in a grinding crunch of metal, their drivers slackjawed. He didn't blame them. It wasn't every day a masked man dropped out of the sky in such spectacular fashion. Much less one who had murdered a mayor. A bus barreled towards him; he raised a hand, still crouched, and its weels turned to slag, rooting it to the street. Then, and only then did he move from his pointed position.

The Undertaker rose from his crouch, his darth leathers shimmering bleakly in the light, the angry slit of his mask pulsating a fierce, furious scarlet. He didn't say anything to anyone, though he was dimly aware of their attention. He simply started walking down the avenue at a brisk pace. Some started following him. Other shrank back from him. Still, he kept walking. Was she watching from up above, he wondered? Did she approve? Would she condemn him like the res?

"Hey! Freeze!"

Then, incredibly, an officer of the GCPD tried to stop him, ruining his thoughts.

The Undertaker turned slowly, his mask offering no emotion. No recognition. recompense for his temerity. Only an empty abyss. Where had he come from? He waved a hand and the crow parted like the red sea, bodies moving aside to reveal the man in question. Finally, he spoke. The words were empty. Hollow.

**"I'm afraid I can't do that, officer. I don't listen to corrupt cops."**

"Stop, or I'll shoot!"

**"Not if I shoot first."**

He moved.

One moment the cop was drawing a bead on him with his pistol, the next, he was in the air. An iron hand locked around his throat like a vice, tossing him away. His hand flicked once, a dar leaping to his wrist bown like a spark catching flame. Another twitch sent the arrow arcing forth; he incendiary dart rocketing forwards, to detonate on the man's chest. He went up like a pile of dry tinder. Shrieking and screaming, writhing like he a man taken by the devil himself thrashing, rolling, trying desperately to pat out flames even as they spread.

The Undertaker didn't spare him so much as a passing glance, spinning on a heel and walking away.

People jolted back from him after that, some with awe, others in fear. He didn't care.

He had only one target.

Salvatore "Sal" Maroni. An Italian-American mob boss, the head of the Maroni crime family, a rising criminal organization threatening Carmine Falcone. All of Gotham knew this, knew that he was not to be trifled with-a forced to be reckoned with-and gave the mobster a wide berth. As they should. Maroni had a mean streak, and a nasty habit of shooting anyone who dared to cross him. Words on paper. Meaningless. Irrelevant. Those who knew Maroni knew he was fuming after the death of the mayor; it had already been proven that he was vulnerable.

Even so, you'd have to be a complete and utter fool to waltz into his base of operations and attack him head on.

The Undertaker did just that.

* * *

><p><em>(Five minutes earlier...)<em>

James Gordon jerked back to life as the hood was abruptly removed from his face. Surprise surprise, he'd gone with Maroni's goons and gotten himself kidnapped. No sooner had his hood been removed than he realized just where they'd taken him, finding himself seated at a table in some posh restaurant he didn't quite recognize. A heavyset, stocky man sat across from him in a fine suite, happily dining on a fine meal of boiled lobster and seafood. Needless to say they weren't alone; several armed guards encircled them, not so subtly cradling concealed weapons in their coats.

Oswald Cobblepot stared back at him as well, his face red and blotched with bruises from where he was forced to crouch beside the mobster. Ah. That explained things. He flexed his wrists experimentally, realizing they were bound behind his back. His sidearm was nowhere to be seen either, gone from its customary place in its holster. Well, shit...

"Welcome." the man said, spreading his arms. "I'm Salvatore Maroni."

The detective swallowed once, clearing his throat. "I know who you are. What do you want?"

"Here's the thing-

"Jim," Cobblepot interrupted with a whine, "Just tell the truth!"

Maroni silenced him with a glare. The youth cowered.

"You thirsty, Jim?" he asked almost nicely, returning his gaze to the detective. "Want some wine? Goes great with seafood."

James wasn't in the mood to drink alchohol. "Water."

Maroni snapped his fingers, and a server strode away.

"So your friend here told me a fascinating story." he began, laughing. "Never heard a story so good. Hard to believe its true.

"It is, its true-

"SHUT UP!" Maroni roared! "SHUT! UP! One more word," his hand snatched the poitned end of a lobster claw, leveling it before the battered boy's face. "And I'll jam this down your throat!" Sufficiently cowed, the suited prisoner did not speeek again. Maroni chortled softly, his mood swinging back to pleasant as ponderously as a pendulum.

"I try to be civil, Jim. But I'm not the kind of man that likes to ask twice. Y'see, its all about the principle-

He never noticed the masked man until it was too late. But Gordon did. He saw a flash of black in one of the windows, moving with determined grace. Then that silhouette paused, took three steps backwards, and with nary so much as a sound, lunged forward. _Crash!_ The window shattered mightily as the Undertaker barreled through like a college linebacker, steel bars and all!- causing everyone to jump. He tucked and rolled, knives flashing from his sleeves-a spring loaded system, perhaps?-rising just beneath his hands.

Silver steel turned red as he thrust them into the throats of two guards in a crimson spray of arterial gore before they could draw a bead on him. They dropped like sacks. And he was still moving.

_Fuck._

Time seemed to slow.

James tried to open his mouth, tried to speak, but all that emerged was a wordless croak. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the other guards moving, Maroni turning, Penguin tucking his head between his hands as though doing so might somehow shield him from what was to come. Some wordless instinct demanded that James move and he did; ducking just as the Undertaker discarded his knives and snatched up a pistol from one of the guards and opened fire.

_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Four shots rang out from the pistol, each bullet dropping a man. Jim flinched as they fell. Headshot, his mind, oddly dettached from the situation, marvelled at the accuracy as he poked out of cover. And then that pistol turned on him. Somehow, he could hear the bullet slotting into the chamber. He did the only thing he could. He shouted.

"Its me!"

The Undertaker must've recognized him, because that gun kept moving, finally falling on his prime target.

_Maroni._

"Fucking hell-

The italian mobster turned around at long lasst, confusion purpling his face as he finally beheld the identity of the attacker. Then he turned pale as the holy ghost. For the first time since they'd met, a very real flash of fear flickered across the mobster's face. He fumbled for his pistol, only to cry out as it was telekineticaly torn from his grasp, flying into the vigilante's waiting hand. Now dually armed, he fired two more shots, finishing off the remainder of the guards he'd missed.

An eerie silence fell over the restaurant.

"Hello, detective." he rumbled, glancing toward him at last. "Fancy meeting you here. Fate's a funny thing, 'innit?" Sheathing his newly acquired weapons in a belt, he stepped around the don and cut him loose. Gordon grimaced as circulation returned to his hands, sensation rushing back into his palms in a sea of pins and needles. The red slit of that mask stared back at him, radiating dark satisfaction. "If I'd known you were here, I'd have brought a drink."

Gordon felt his frown deepen.

"What're you doing here?"

"Oh, nothing." came the jovial reply. "Just-

Salvatore scrambled away from the table and made a grab for one of the fallen weapons. The Undertaker didn't turn.

Without looking, he raised a pistol and knee-capped him. Maroni screamed and fell to the floor, clutching at his shattered limb. The Undertaker shot him again in the other leg for good measure. The mobster keened, a high-pitched cry of pain, wailing in agony. He started cursing in italian, words dissolving into senseless gibberish.

-taking care of some unfinished business." he finished.

Behind the table, Oswald whimpered.

The masked man turned, as though noticing him, truly noticing him for the first time.

"Ah, Cobblepot." He cooed, extulant in his glee. "Isn't _this_ a surprise. I wasn't expecting to see you here...you little snitch."

Oswarled turned white, realizing what was about to happen. His hands rose, desperately trying to ward off a bullet. "No, wait! I can help you-

_"Don't want your help."_

A single shot and the Penguin dropped dead, his bright blue eyes staring out lifelessly below the hole in his skull. James roared.

"Jesus! Why did you do that?!"

"What?" Naruto glanced at him. "No one'll miss a dead man. Ah, right. The business with Falcone. I'll dispose of the maggot's body; don't you worry. But _first,"_ he spun on a heel, rounding on Maroni. The gangster had tried to drag himself away on his hands, but he hadn't gotten far. He wasn't even at the door yet. "I'll deal with him."

Maroni hastened his pace, moving just above a snail's crawl. Naruto walked after him. Reached down. Plucked him off the ground.

"You may want to leave, detective." he said by way of dismissal. "This might be...unpleasant."

He didn't even wait to see whether or not the detective left before he began.

_Crack._

The fist descended mercilessly.

Maroni grunted as his nose broke, the cartilege twisting at awkward angle. Another blow bloodied his face. A third cast him down to the ground, throwing him onto his back. Before he could rise, a fifth planted itself on his corpulent stomach, driving the wind out of his lungs. And James Gordon saw it all. He wanted to leave, knew he should-or at the very least do something to stop this-but instead he found himself inexplicably frozen in place, unable to move as the Undertaker began beating his victim.

There was a savage method to each and every strike; the blows not so much meant to kill as they were to cripple. The Undertaker didn't seem to care that he bloodied his gloves, or his mask, or even his finely tailored leathers. Finally, he dropped him, another blow launching him _across the room _and all bur hurtling him into a table. Wood shattered against Maroni's back, shards and splinters of the table sticking into his shoulders as he struggled to clamor upright. Naruto advanced on him relentlessly, uncaring for the curses and threats he received.

"Jesus...what do you want?!" Maroni rasped between blows at last, earning himself a reprieve.

**"Justice."**

"You have any idea what I'll do to you when I get out of here?!"

**"You won't be getting out of here at all."** came the reply. **"I suggest you make peace with your maker now."**

"C'mon, we can make a deal, rigth?! Money? I can get you money! Do you want women?! I can bring you the finest-

_Schink._

Maroni squealed like a struck pig as the knife slammed into his stomach. Naruto gave his wrist-blade a savage wrench, forcing his victim to grasp desperately at the wound as he ripped the weapon free.

**"A long time ago, I promised a certain someone that I wouldn't kill anymore. That I'd try to be normal. Peaceful."** He circled him, like a shark, the movements sharp. Predatory. "**That I would never be that person again. But for you, I'm going to make an exception. Initially, I was planning on letting you suffer. Squirm a little, knowing that I was offing your boys one by one. But then I realized something; every second that you live is an affront to her, the memory of the woman I loved. And I will tolerate your exsistence no longer."**

"What the hell did I do?!"

Naruto reached down, patting him on the cheek. His words were almost kind, Gordon thought. That was precisely what frightened him the most.

**"Its not what you did son,"** he said.** "Its who you did it to."**

"The fuck're you talking about?"

"Coupla of years back." The Undertaker replied, his voice like glacial ice, losing its deep, resonating tone. "Your boys did a drive by on this clinic. Hit and run. Pink hair. Liked to wear white and red. Packed one hell of a right hook when you pissed her off, ya know? She'd been treating your victims, patching up the people your goons liked to beat. She didn't do nothing to nobody. She'd hung up her headband, tried to live a normal life, like me. And for awhile there, it was working. But then," his voice broke then, warping into a dark laugh, "Your men -you!- shot her. You killed her in cold blood. My hope, my life, my reason for living. And you took her from me, not because she'd done anything wrong, but because you could; because it was within your power to make me hurt. And dumped her body in the river.

There was a pointed silence between them. At legnth, he spoke again. "Took me a week to find her before she washed up on the outer banks. You have any idea what water does to a corpse, Maroni? She was missing a leg and most of her face. But I knew it was her. That you'd killed her."

"Tha-that fucking nobody?" he whimpered, garbling the wards through a split lip and blood-bleached teeth. _"That's_ why you're here?"

Naruto kicked him again. This time, Gordon heard the telltale crack of bone. A rib.

**"That 'fucking nobody' had a _name,_ you little shit. Her name was Sakura Haruno." **his hand rose rapidly, ripping off the mask, exposing the hateful grimace of a young man in his late thirties. Blue eyes blazed like azure coals in the back of his skull, crackling with fury.** "She was my wife. Pregnant, with my child. My DAUGHTER!" **For the very first time, James Gordon saw the Undertaker's face. He was...young. Around his age, maybe less. Rage twisted his cheeks in a furious snarl, those blue eyes burning red, then an eerie, rimmed violent violet before his very gaze, spittle flying from his lips.

_**"AND YOU FUCKING KILLED THEM!"**_

Maroni began to blubber, thick, fat tears falling from his rotund, bruised face as he struggled to keep hands on his bleeding stomach. Perhaps he knew that he was about to die. Perhaps he'd given up. Gordon couldn't help but feel pity for the mobster in that moment.

"You...you fucking zombie...why didn't you die?!"

"So sorry to dissapoint." The Undertaker jerked his mask back on, all harsh edges and angles once again. "But unlike my wife, I'm not so easy to kill. You know, I _tried_ to something about this city once before, the legal way. The _Wayne_ way. Raising money for those who did not have. Sheltering the innocent. Now I see the error of my ways. I was naieve. You don't try to cure a dead man. You don't try to save a wicked man. You purge him. Just as I'm about to purge you." He removed one of the guns from his pelt, drawing it slowly. "Shooting me that day was the best thing you couldn've done for me. You opened my eyes. Now I know what needs to be done. With the Wayne's gone, theres' nothing to be done for this city but to do what I do best. Killing."

"No...no...no...

**"People have been asking me if I'm back."** he said, appraising the firearm in his hand gazing upon it like a fine piece of art. "**Until now, I didn't really have an answer. Y'see, I wasn't _sure. _Too many variables. Too many consequences. But I think, after all the hell I've been through, that I've mae up my mind. This city needs something. Someone. What it doesn't need, is a fucker like you."**

The gun pressed against Maroni's skull with an audible click.

**"Yeah, I think I'm _fucking_ back."**

A hand closed around his arm before he could pull the trigger.

"Hey-

**"Don't try to stop me, detective."** the bite in those words rooted him all over again. **"This is my right. He'll never stand trial. Not in Gotham. You know that." **Holding him back was like holding a live wire; he could feel the rage-the energy-shooting through the Undertaker's veins. Part of him wanted to let go. To let Maroni get what was coming to him. But killing him changed nothing. Another would step into his place ready and eager to pick up where the mobster left off. But if Maroni were incapacitated...

"Killing him won't bring them back." That was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it the moment it left his lips.

_**"I DON'T CARE!"**_

His arm jerked, unloading the full clip into Maroni. Five shots. The mobster jerked with each successive, spasming as the bullets drilled into flesh and bone; pierced his throat, chest, lungs, kidney, and finally, mercifully, his heart. Salvatore Maroni died instantly, the life leaving his eyes. Then the Undertaker took it a step further. He reached forward with his free hand, grabbed Maroni by the head and _yanked._ His head came free with a revolting spatter of gore, and landed neatly in his lap.

Gordon couldn't find the words. The anger, the brutality of what he'd just seen, rocked him to the core. There was nothing human about this man. He was a cold blooded killer.

Naruto looked at the pistol in his other hand a long moment, then he tossed it down, its clip emptied. Disgust wreathed his features.

"So uncivilized."

Turning toward James, he smacked his hands together.

"Well, I feel a little better now, he lied. "Come, detective. Lets get you out of here. Wouldn't do to have you seen with this...mess. But first, I'm afraid I'll have to erase the memory of my face from your mind. Can't be too careful. Oh, and be sure to check our warehouse thirty-nine. You'll find some _fascinating _things there."

Before Gordon could ask just what he meant by that, Naruto grabbed him by the face and sent him...

...somewhere else.

* * *

><p><em>'I wonder if I did the right thing, sending him away like that...<em>

The Undertaker-Naruto once more-pondered whether or not he'd made a sane decision later that night as he stood at the end of the dock, looking out into the waters of the bay. The crisp scent of the harbor filled his nostrils-filtered through the mask-reminding him of a darer time when he'd wanted nothing more than to put Gotham to his back and lose himself in the waters of the bay. That seemed like an age ago now. Any trace thoughts of suicide had long since been vindicated and dealt with before he'd first assumed the mantle of Undertaker. Now, less than two weeks in, and already he felt he was making an impact.

Undertaker was his rason d'tere...his duty.

Now, suddenly, he wondered if he should be satisfied with what he'd done.

His alter ego had been born initially out of a need for vengeance, spawned from a husband's impotent desire to do _something,_ to find an obsession that would see him through the endless night of his misery. But he'd come to terms with that, in a sense He'd avanged the senseless and brutal murder of his wife and child, a hundred times over this afternoon; he should no longer awaken wide-eyed and trembling, from the nightmare of her bloated corpse.

And yet he could still not hang up the mask. For if Undertaker was his rason d'tere, it was also his bete noire, seeming at times to own him-as if the mask were the real face, and Uzumaki Naruto the disguise. He rarely showed his face in the light, always using a henge or some other form of disguise. It made him long for the days when he could walk unmasked in the city. For better days.

Killing Maroni should've cleared the demons from his head. But they were still there, the whispers, the visions, still mocking him. Sleep was a temporary escape; donning this mask was the only true remedy. He didn't see her-he couldn't bring himself to think of her name again-when he worked. There was peace for that fleeting window in which he was the Undertaker once more.

But in other ways, Maroni's-and by default Cobblepot's-murder had been _very_ cathartic. Striking at one of the most promintent mobsters in Gotham City was one thing; doing it broad daylight? With witnessess? Forget the price on his head; he'd just proven that he could strike anyone, anywhere, at anytime, and, get away with it. When the GCPD tried to find his prints on Maroni, there would be none, assuming they found any at all to begin with. Uzumaki Naruto didn't exist. He was a ghost.

Gordon wouldn't be implicated either; an alibi of him being at headquarters was already firmly established, Cobblepot's corpse was currently resting at the bottom of the bay. His source for the unprecedented bust on Wellzyn and the scandal that followed however, was not.

He'd been pleased to learn that the Viper case had been cracked wide open thanks to the hint he'd dropped. The detective had discovered quite a few serums and other...items of interest in that warehouse. The villian in question, Stan Potolsky, had chosen to commit suicide rather than be captured at the scene. Pity. Venom was a useful substance, lacking the effects of its predecessor. Naruto himself had no need for such a wonder drug, but it might be something to watch in the future.

After all, he was a tactician and a strategist, but also a frontline fighter. He was hardwired for this fight. Hands-on.

And now, here, in this harbor, he was truly about to put that to the test.

"I had a feeling you'd come here."

The Undertaker turned slowly, facing away from the pier. He wasn't surprised by what he found there. Nor did he flinch at sound of a dozen rifles being cocked. The harsh clicking of automatic weapony filled his ears. A terrifying sound, for some. But instead of being frightened, the former shinobi found himself oddly...excited. It had been a long while since he'd pushed his body like this. One of those guys had a rocket launcher, for all the love of kami!

"So, the fish has come to the fisherman."

"It would seem so."

Carmine Falcone stared back at him with a kind, grandfatherly smile. Summoned by his not-so-discreet message this afternoon, no doubt. Still, to find him out here, to track him down awya from the city...it was almost enough to make him curious. How had he been found? Had he been sloppy? The Undertaker sighed, dismissing the thought. He supposed it would've been too much to expect this man to come alone. And still the damn bastard smiled. A smile that looked nice seemed polite, even. Gentle. Innocent.

Naruto wasn't fooled in the least. Beneath that sly, simple smile lurked a demon in disguise, a creature who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. This was no soft or weak cushiony target like Maroni. Here was a man who'd held onto power for years, decades even, and knew how to maintain that grip. Dislodging him-killing him-with so many men wouldn't be easy. He wasn't immortal; his body had its limits. And kevlar was a useful thing, but even body armor and a bullet-proof vest could only take so much...

**"How did you find me?"**

Falcone sighed, like a dissapointed parent. "A little kitten told me." He raised a hand, holding up a familiar pair of goggles.

Naruto's blood ran cold, turning to ice in his veins. Selina. _Oh, baby girl, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Never should've gotten you involved..._** "Where is she?"**

"Oh, here, there." the Don shrugged. "But enough about that little thief. I'm far more interested in you."

The Undertaker said nothing. He refused to give him the satisfaction. Inwardly, his mind was racing. She was alive. She had to be. Falcone wasn't the type to kill unless he had good reason...but had he handed him that very reason on a silver platter?

"You've been quite the pest these last few weeks," the Don continued, shaking his head as he continued his little speech. "Dismantling my operations, sabotaging drops, killing my men, painting my car orange-was that last one really neccessary?"

**"Dunno. Do you like the color orange?"**

...no."

**"Then yes, it was entirely neccessary."**

"Smart, I see." the mobster replied. "Ordinarily, I'd have just kill you for interfering with my operations. But since you were so _kind _as to kill that little shit Maroni, I thought I'd offer you a place in my organization." His arms spread wide, as though he were welcoming home a long lost son. "Come work for us. I'm sure a man of your "talents" would be better suited working on the right side of the law."

**"You must be kidding."**

"And _you_ must be if you think you can kill every corrupt soul in Gotham."

**"I'm just getting started."**

"Is that your final answer, then?" Falcone asked.

"Yes."

"In that case, lets see whose behind that mask." He broadened his smile as he continued amiacably. "Take it off, would you kindly?"

"..."

The Undertaker cocked his head aside, like a dog listening to a new sound. He inhaled, drinking deep the salty smells of the harbor once more. _So, this is it, then._ He took a long moment to reply, gathering his thoughts and strength, preparing himself for what was to come. Finally, a single word issued forth from his mask.

"No."

Falcone waved his revolver slowly-lazily, finger on the trigger, beckoning two of his men forward to disarm him. Naruto flicked both wrists, and their approach ended abruptly, just as it had begun. Kunai dropped from his sleeves into his awiaiting hands; eliciting an instant's hesitation from each of the gunmen. It was more than enough. Another flick sent the knives blurring into motion in a glint of steel, streaking like lightning unto their throats, severing their trachea in the blink of an eye. Gurgling, they collapsed to the floor in pools of their own blood. His boots crushed down seconds later, pulping their heads.

Two down.

"Defiant to the end, eh? You won't cry like Maroni, will you?" His eyes searched his mask, scathingly. "You're not afraid of death. You're like me."

"The only thing we have in common is our love of violence." The Undertaker replied, discarding his bloodied kunai with a flourish. "The difference being, I use mine for good. But you?" A gloved hand rose, pointing upon him with angry temerity. "I've seen your type before. You're a cancer. A sore. A postule on the face of this city. You waltz on in, step over everbody, take whatever it is you want, and kill whomever gets in your way. A smart man doesn't invite his enemies into his den. He kills them.

"Y-You've got nothing now." one of his men, laughed at what he thought to be folly. "Nothing but your bloody knives and your fancy karate gimmicks. We have guns."

Naruto chortled; it was a soft, throaty chuckle.

"No, my dear man," he goaded," what you have are bullets, and the hope that when your guns are empty; I'm no longer be standing," somehow, that crimson slit in his mask seemed to glow as he continued, "Because if I am**...you'll all be dead before you've reloaded."**

Falcone frowned.

"Impossible."

**"I believe I've already told you lot what I think of the impossible, my good man."** came the reply. **"Nothing is impossible for me."** He stepped forward. The mobster flinched, hurriedly raising his weapon. A touch of very real fear flew across his face, like a startled gull taking flight.

"Kill him."

As one, the rifles rose. And then there was fire.

The Undertaker twitched, his body spasming as a dozen gunmen opened fire. Automatic rifles roared furiously, a steady stream coursing forward faster than the eye could see.

Wave upon wave of molten death slammed into him, bullets ripping bloody holes into his body. He bent low. Then, incredibly, he straightened. Stood. Unflinching, like a rock weathering a storm, he stood tall, rising up from his pained crouch as clip after clip clicked empty. Finally, the man wielding the rocket opened fire, settign the very dock ablaze and tearing it apart. What remained was cast into the bay-only a tiny, tenuous piece holding on for dear life. Falcone permitted himself a small, satisfactory smile as he stared into the blaze. Served the little u

"Well done, boys-

**"Not...yet."**

Falcone froze. No. Impossible. There, standing amidst the smoke. The Undertaker was alive. His mask was smashed and mangled-shattered part of it-exposing a single, blue iris to the world. Before Falcone's very eyes, that eye turned red, its scarlet, slitted pupil leering at him through the hole in the Undertaker's facade. He stepped forward, his body still smoldering with fire, walking across the water itself. Walking to them. Someone whimpered behind Falcone.

A soft, sibiliant hiss trickled through the air.

**_"My. Turn."_**

And all hell broke loose.

The Undertaker lurched forward, a pair of fresh kunai flying into his hands even as he moved.

He flung one forward, piercing the throat of the guard nearest to Falcone, sending him to the floor in a pool of his own blood. Even as Carmine turned to register this Naruto was already moving; his remaining kunai opening a bloody trench in the chest of a woman just as she slapped a fresh clip into her rifle, bifurcating her at the hip. The stunned woman went down with a yowl of pain. Only a single second had passed, leaving Falcone with eight guards. Terrified, he began thumbing bullets into his revolver, but he was moving slowly Carmine realized, even as he reloaded, much too slowly-

The Undertaker strode forward just as someone tried to finish slapping their clip in and pull back the catch. A pair of pistols materialized in the vigilante's palms.

Six shots rang out, three from each weapon. Six men died, shot to death on the pier. The remainder shrank back, still fumbling in fear with their clips. The seventh stumbled away, shrieking. A knife too

Naruto discarded the empty pistols and opened a hand, revealing the spiraling sphere clenched within. _Rasengan._ He drove the deadly ball of energy into the man's visage, pupling his face like an orange. The asian dropped to a knee, rocket launcher at the ready as Falcone looked on and tried to draw a hold out pistol, but even that momentary distraction proved costly. Naruto leapt on him with an angry hiss and grabbed him by the neck, fingers locking in and around the portly man's visage. He is knife flashed like lightning, and the grenadier knew no more.

Three seconds had finally elapsed.

Falcone opened fire just as Naruto turned on him, reaching for another knife. He never made it.

"Die!" He roared, opening fire on him, wrenching him backward with furious fire. "Die!" Naruto staggered, took a step forward, came on relentlessly, uncaring as bullet after bullet slammed into him. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Too little too late. "Why won't you die?!" The revolver clicked empty, in the same instant that he stepped forward. Falcone reached down a holdout pistol, but his boot was there to greet him, slamming his body backwards off the pier, hurtling him back towards the harbour, its storange containers acting as an unyielding iron wall. Pain exploded into his spine; he was certain he'd broken something. The Undertaker came after him with a growl, loomed over him like an angry kami, his body riddle with holes, standing tall, and defiant."

"Beneath this face there is more than flesh, more than muscle and bone." he answered as the last of his wounds sizzled shut. "Beneath this face there is an idea. And ideas_...are bulletproof."_

The Undertaker barreled at him in a rush before he could speak, driving him up against the unbreakable wall of a nearby container, crushing his throat in a furious vice, holding him fast. The air rushed out his lungs in a mighty whoosh, taking his strength with it and leaving him drained.

"Where," he growled, "Is Selina...?!"

"...never...

_**"WHERE IS SHE?!"**_

Falcone tried to speak further, but no words emerged. Only a rasping gasp. He tried to draw upon his inner strength, his resolve, his will, to drive him off. He struck out at his gut, desperate to get a reprieve from the forces all but crushing the life out of him. But the masked vigilante was implacable. Those iron hands tightened around his throat with renewed fury, crushing bone and bruising muscle. And then he felt them begin to twist; quite slowly at first, but inexorably, inevitably, implacably. Until...Until...

_Snap._

Don Falcone died that night.

**A/N: GASP! IS SELINA ALIVE?! Its been awhile, h****asn't it? I've been away from the world of Batman for ages, haven't I? And if you're wondering about the mask, its vaguely like that of the one Revan wore. Scary little 'ting inn'it? That aside, there's not really much of a pairing for this one, just a means to make the criminally corrupt of Gotham pay for what they've done. By the time this story's finished, there will be blood, Falcone's, Fish's, Maroni's, and more. Someone also mentioned the idea of taking Naruto's brand of justice to the rest of the DC universe once he's done with Gotham. Let's just say...**

**...I'm considering it.**

**So...in the immortal words of Atlas...**

**...Review...Would You Kindly...? And of course, enjoy the preview! We get to meet a familiar face! And a new one as well! Hope ya'll like it!**

**(Preview)**

_The Undertaker blinked back at her, frowning at the girl he'd just saved. He was only vaguely aware of the car pressing down on his outstretched limb, of the fact that he'd stepped in to save an innocent life. A flick of his wrist and the sedan tumbled backwards, landing on its roof. Straightening, he stared down at the blond in confusion. Her bespectacled face gazed back up at him. Naruto rose, frowning._

_"Who...are you?"_

_"Harleen," she murmurred softly._

_"Harleen Quinzel."_

* * *

><p><em>"Looks like you've got some comptetion." Barbara said.<em>

_"How so?"_

_"Here." she tossed him the early morning paper, deftly, he plucked it out of the air. "Front page."_

_On the cover it told of the deaths of a number of Fish Mooney's men down in south Arkham. What surprised him was that the weapon of choice had been a tombstone. Putting aside the prodigous amount of strength it must've taken to rip a grave from the ground, it probably took even more to beat someone to death with it. Still, he would've attested that to the last of the Viper serum. But witnesses spoke of a masked man in grey and blue, a vigilante. Someone with incredible strength and speed._

_Then there was the note left at the scene of the crime. What was it, Latin? That was a dead language. _

_Requiescat in pace._

_"Calls himself, the Gravewalker." he murmurred, reading. "Catchy name. Why didn't I think of that?"_

_"Sounds like a copycat." she offered._

_"Maybe." he folded the paper and stood up, donning his mask. "Either way..._

_...I wan't to meet him."_

_Her head cocked aside, long tresses bouncing from the motion. __"Um...are you sure that's a good idea?"_

_He gave a simple glance._

_"Not at all. But I'm doing it anyway."_

**R&R! =D**


	4. Hurt

**A/N: Alright! After being pestered for so long I've finally dug my claws into this idea, the first NarutoxGotham crossover. Now y'see, I didn't know where or when to place it at first, didn't want to alter too much. But then it hit me. What does Gotham have no short of? Corruption. Now, screwing around with Batman is one thing. But messing with Gotham the show...**

**...now that's a whole new can of worms. Off we go into the deep once more! And once again a warning; A LOT of people are going to die in this fic. It will be violent. There will be blood. Sorrow, a fair bit of death. And YES the title refers to the exact song by the masterful and late Johnny Cash, which I recommend for this chapter, Hurt. Which I do not own! And WOW! That's a ton of votes on the poll! Keep at it, peoplz! The pairing will be decided soon! And lets clarify something. Naruto is not immortal. He can die. He heals at a ridiculous rate**

**Lets see if you recognize this line, hmm? As another note, this story is taking a hard right, branching away from the television show!**

_"And you could have it all; my empire of dirt. I will let you down; I will make you hurt..._

_~Johnny Cash._

**Hurt **

_What...have I become?_

_Who am I? _What__ am I?__

_The Undertaker, a ruthless killer hellbent on vengeance, no matter the cost? Or am I Uzumaki Naruto, the fool who thought he could change the city with words and emerge unscathed? Only a few days ago, I would've answered the question readily enough. But now?_

_I'm not sure I like either choice, really._

_Everyone I know goes away in the end. First Sakura. Then the Waynes. Now...Selina. As I pen this, my hand shakes. If she's really gone, I'm not sure I will be able to handle it. For sixteen years after Sakura's death, I languished, recovering from the bullet in my heart. It almost killed me. But it also made me stronger. Losing Thomas and Martha Wayne nearly a year later was much the same; although, I didn't spend years wallowing in self-depreciaton before taking action. Oddly enough, their deaths galvanized me. __Got me off my feet, and back into the fight._

_ I wish there'd been another way. Gods above and below, I wish there was another way. But there wasn't. Isn't. And as ever, I slogged on. But this, if my actions led to her death...I don't think I'll be able to live with the guilt. Its eating at me from the inside out like a poison. I can't bear it._

_Let me ask you this. What, is an Undertaker?_

_An undertaker is, by definition, an individual whose business is to prepare the dead for burial and to arrange and manage funerals. A mortician. Someone who deals in death, for lack of a better word. That was what I was doing, in a sense. Perhaps that was why the public gave me that name. I didn't much care for it at the time. I still don't. But it keeps me grounded. It reminds me that everyone that I am not a hero; that I am a killer. A man in a mask, who plays at heroism and puts on airs in a sad attempt to delude myself into thinking I was doing an ounce of good._

_"And thus I clothe my naked villainy with old odd ends stolen forth from holy writ, and seem a saint when most I play the devil." Shakespeare. Huh. Never thought I'd be quoting him. But the man spoke the truth with those words; I am certainly no saint. I am the devil. But even the devil can bleed. This wasn't something I could do alone. __Something had to change. A line had to be crossed. A line..._

_Hold on a moment. I've just gotten an idea. If there is a line somewhere, a barrier I haven't broken through yet..._

_...then I'm about to leap straight over it._

* * *

><p>Oswald Cobblepot jerked back to life with a scream.<p>

Eyes that had been cold and dead only hours ago flashed with life, a soundless, senseless cry leaping from his lips. Concsiousness returned to him in a flash of unholy crimson, the fires of his eternal damnation leaving him; vanishing, disappearing, replaced by a terrible sensation. Or rather, the lack thereof. His hand flew to his forehead; sure enough, the bullet that had lodged itself in his skull, the gaping wound, was nowhere to be seen. But he felt nothing. Nothing at all.

Staggering upright, the onetime ally of Maroni choked and sputtered, expelling water from his lungs.

There was no pain, no sensation, no...anything.

"Hello, Cobblepot."

Penguin fumbled for his feet, cringing as something knocked him back down. He didn't want to look, but he did so anyway. He knew he was on the docks, but this...who...

The Undertaker stared back at him.

Oh, dear.

"Ah, ah." he wagged a finger. "No screaming. No one can hear you out here but the drunkards. And I'm sure they won't mind."

The vigilante was soaking wet, as though he'd just jumped into the river. Perhaps he had.

"You can't feel anything at the moment. Whether you suffer or live in pleasant numbness is to be decided at my discretion. You see, pain," and here all sensation came rushing back, "Is a marvelous motivator. I'd take a few extra minutes to instruct you, but unfortunately time is of the essence." As if to punctuate that sentence, he rammed one of his many knives deep into his thigh. Cobblepot shrieked. But, there was no blood. Just the overwhelming feeling of agony, of the knife twisting in his thigh. When he finally found his voice, it was thin, reedy with pain.

"Wha-What do you want?"

"I have need of you, Penguin." he gestured grandly, leaving the knife where it was. "Hence your...ressurrection, as it were. Edo Tensei is a marvelous jutsu, really. I've never used it until now. Did you know," He edged forward, and, despite his jovial tone, the man realized that this was no mere social call. "That it requires a piece of the host's flesh, a living sacrifice, and alll other manner of foul methodry to bring a man back from the dead? I tried it on my wife when she was gone, but for some reason it didn't work. Never thought to use it again. Until now. Must've gotten better at it, or something. He was rambling now, but Penguin daren't test that theory; if only for fear of being struck."

Of course I could restore you back to _true_ life, rather than this walking husk of ash. Would you like that, Penguin? Would you like to live again?"

Yes, a thousand times yes! But again, he daren't say that. It might all be a trick. A trap of some sort.

"W-W-W-What are you?"

"What I am, is a man in a mask." came the reply.

"Yes, I can see that." he muttered, averting his eyes.

"Can you?"

"Well-

"Enough!" his voice cracked like thunder. "Answer my question now, or I'll send you back to the void. Tell me what I want, and well, I might keep you around."

"Yessir," he meekly averted his gaze. "Whatever you need."

"You worked for Falcone, once." It was not a question.

"Yes."

The angry red slit of that mask bored into him like a knife.

"Where might he keep a captive?"

* * *

><p><em>(Elsewhere...)<em>

_Pain._

It was everywhere.

Selina Kyle struggled to blink through bleary eyes-one half-swollen shut-struggling to understand what'd happened. Where she was. Gradually, her mind came back to her. Falcone. She'd swiped a wallet from one of his men; turned out the man had friends. They'd caught her. Tortured her. Interrogated. Hurt her in ways she hadn't thought possible. They'd been watching her. Waiting for her to slip. Eventually, to her great shame, she told them what they wanted to know about the Undertaker. Told them almost everything; the only piece she kept to herself was his identity.

She hadn't wanted to, but the pain...it just hurt so much.

He was probably out there now, fighting-dying-on the docks. All because of her. The one person in Gotham who actually gave a damn about her, and she'd sold him out. She wished she was dead. Maybe then she'd feel some semblance of peace. Anything was better than this god-awful wrenching in her gut...

...shit!"

The deafening crack of a gunshot filled her ears from the next room over. Footsteps clamored in the hall. Then the screams started.

"Shoot him you fools! Shoot him! He's just one man!"

_**"WHERE! IS! SHE?!**_

Selina stiffened in surprise from where she lay bound to the chair, a cold hand of shock shaking hold of her as a thunderous voice ripped through the halls. It was a voice she had heard many times, raised now in anger like she'd never heard before; the furious foghorn of a captain coming for his crew. A father, his daughter. And for a moment, just a moment, her heart leapt. She sniffled softly, a lone tear trailing out of her good eye, even as she struggled to hold the rest in. When the voice came next, it was almost calm, eerie in its veneer of civility.

"And thus I clothe my naked villainy with old odd ends stolen forth from holy writ, and seem a saint when most I play the devil."

"W-What does that mean, you sick fuck?!"

There was a pointed silence. Then:

_"Spare the rod."_

Then there was only the sound of breaking bones and bodies being torn apart. She didn't need to see to know that blood spattered the walls; that, if she were to look out into the hall, she would find the ceiling painted with gore and broken bones. And still, the sounds of the one-man assault continue.

Every muscle in her body clamped down. She froze, unmoving, unbreathing, not daring to hope. A gunshot crackled in the air. Behind her shards of late moonlight suffused the window, stabbed into the tiny room like bright knives, injuring her eyes. Someone screamed. The shotgun boomed again. This time, something answered it. A deafening crack like that of a lightning strike shook their complex to its core, sending her cringing into the chair for shelter that wasn't there.

The door opened with such force that it flew free from its hinges.

Naruto stumbled into the room. He looked awful. Most of his mask was missing, parts of his costume had been slagged to his skin, and the many bloody tears in his outfit suggested something sinister. He walked with a stiff gait; slight, tiny hisses sounded beneath the mask. In his right hand he clutched the aforementioned shotgun; as she looked on, he cocked it in his goood hand and leaned back out into the hall. The weapon barked one last time-someone screamed outside and dropped with a revolting spatter.

Her saviour spat something in japanese and broke the weapon over his knee, tossing it into the hall with a clatter. Then he saw her. A low hiss of surprise fled from behind thast mask. She must have looked even worse than she felt; because the killer intent smothering the room threatened to swallow Selina's very soul-and it wasn't even directed at her!

"Oh, sweetie..."

He lurched forward, his hands fumbling at the ropes that bound her. She would've leapt out of the chair had she the strength; as it were, she stumbled into his arms.

When she touched a hand to his chest, it came away bloody. No. It was more than that. Looking down, she saw that he was still bleeding, tiny crimson droplets dribbling down to puddle at his feet. He'd taken a beating for certain, but it was more than that. Naruto was wounded. He was _hurt. _What'd happened to him?

"I'm sorry." those were the first words out of her mouth. "I didn't want to tell, but they-

"Sh." he hushed her, pulling her into his chest. "Its alright."

"I thought you left me...

"It's alright." He repeasted. The words were a pained hiss; had one of his lungs collapsed?

"No, its not alright, you idiot! You...look at you! How did you even find me?!"

He laughed; it was a soft, wheezy sound. "Doesn't matter. Had to be sure. Now I am."

Selina stubbornly fought off tears. She didn't want to cry. Shouldn't have to. She'd lived a hard life; hadn't shed so much as a single tear since her papa died. Having hardened herself from the inside out, she thought it was for the best; that no one could touch here this way. Falcone had proven her wrong. No matter how much you distanced yourself from others, you could still be hurt. Wounded. Not just physically, but emotionally-he had broken her after only a few hours of torment, then taken her goggles to prove to Naruto that he had her. He'd taken her iron will and snapped it like a twig. She'd never be the same again.

Looking at Naruto now, she had no doubt that Falcone was dead. The Undertaker wasn't the sort to let something like that stand. Even so, she had to ask. Had to hear it.

"Is he dead?"

"As a doorknob." the mask reflected no emotion, but she thought she hard anger in his voice. He won't hurt you again. No one will hurt you." Was he talking about those adoption papers again? Despite the pain a part of her couldn't help but wonder. He'd been trying for the last year, but the city had always refused his applications. Perhaps he simply didn't care anymore; maybe he was going to find a way around. Who knew. Those words however, took the last of her resistance, and dashed it against the rocks.

...oh."

She buried her head into his shoulder-the only part that wasn't red-and finally felt the tears come. The dam burst and the floodwaters poured through. Her fingers curled around the dirty lappels of his coat, clutching at him as though he were nothing but a dream, and would vanish the moment she opened her eyes. Thankfully, she didn't. Tears of relief, not sorrow. Perhaps even a sliver of joy. Selina didn't know. She felt safe -warm-in his arms, his promise of protection still ringing in her ears.

"Hey," he murrmurred. "Don't cry. It's okay...I'm going to keep you safe now. Forever."

For a long time after that, she cried even harder.

"But first," he straightened, wobbling slightly on his feet. "We're going to see an old friend before I keel over."

When he spoke again, she could only nod.

* * *

><p><em>Bring!<em>

Barbara Kean jerked upright in bed as the piercing sound of the telephone filled her ears. She nearly fell out of bed as she fumbled for her cell, her fingers wrapping around the small deviced seconds later. Touching one digit to the screen, she dragged at the slider, opening the line on her end. Only one of two people had the audacity to cal;l her this late at night; she noticed with a small pang that it was an unllisted number. Not James then. A small pinprick of guilt stabbed at her heart. James.

She might've been the one to end it between them, but a part of her still held out the hope that they could reconcile. It seemed everyone she'd ever loved went away in the end. She always made a mess of things. This city took everything good and twisted it; just as she suspected it had twisted the man she once loved. Jim had never-never-kept secrets from her before Gotham. Then he did. Now there was a madman running around the city, killing criminals. Maybe she'd been hoping he would call her. Maybe it was him? Nothing could've prepared her for who was on the other line.

...hello?" she mumbled, her voice still heavy with sleep.

"Barb."

Wakefulness jolted through her as though she'd just drunk a gallon of coffee. She pressed the phone closer to ear, as though in doing so she might somehow push through the static on the line and hear him better. The silenced lasted all of a moment, then finally, mercifully, she found her voice.

_"Naruto?"_

"Yo." came the weak reply. "Are you home?"

"I...well, yes!"

She hadn't spoken to him in ages. Years. Not since his wife died. He'd been married once, and they'd both agreed to keep things platonic between them. He'd tried to fix Gotham, once. Make things better. But after her death, after he'd been shot...he'd just dissappeared. Vanished. Gone. Off the radar. And who could blame him? Barbara hadn't even known he was still in Gotham. She'd thought he would have moved on. Any sane soul would have. That he was back in Gotham again was troubling. Why was he calling her this late, anyway? Surely he had better things to do than look up an old contact.

"You took those nursing classes in college, right?" Odd. Why would he ask such a thing?

"Wha-yes?

"Do you have any gauze from the old days?" he continued.

"A little."

"Any painkillers?"

"Naruto, you're starting to scare me-

"Yes, or no, Barb."

She swallowed. "Yes."

"Good. I'm coming up." He hung up with a sharp click.

"What in the...

The door flung itself open seconds later, nearly bursting from its hinges. Barbara yelped, struggling not to erupt into a fit of shrieks when she saw the mask. He stepped through the door, covered in blood, his outfit all but shot to pieces, his armor dented and mangled by bullets and shotgun shells. A lone blue eye burned out at her behind the broken mask. That, that was when Barbara started screaming. She was looking at a bloody wraith, a demon who haunted the streets, killing the corrupt.

"Jesus!"

She was looking at the Undertaker. Behind him a young girl trailed, but she barely saw her. A hand closed around her mouth, stifling her shriek. Oh, God. Jesus. Sweet Holy Ghost! Her mind gibbered as a hand rose, a gloved palm no doubt moving to snap her neck like a twig or...

...remove his mask?

Uzumaki Naruto stared back at her, his lips pulling into a thin smile. He looked...awful. She could see the spots in his face where he'd dug out the shrapnel, one of his eyes looked as though it were well on its way to an ugly black welt. Even so, after all these years, she recognized him immediately.

"I'm going to let go of your mouth, now." he said. "Do you promise to be quiet?"

She nodded. He let go. Incredulity took hold almost immediately.

_**"WHAT THE HELL?!"**_

The Undertaker-Naruto?!-clamped a hand over her mouth again.

"You always were a screamer." He sighed. Then he blinked, realizing his words. "Wait, that sounded dirty, didn't it?"

"Kinda." the girl chirruped at his side.

"You...

"Sorry for the house visit, but as you can see, I'm a bit wasted. I'd do it myself, but I'm nearly out of chakra." He glanced down at his charge. "Used most of it patching her up. Silly me."

"You're...the Undertaker?!"

"Yes," he deadpanned, throwing himself into a nearby chair. "We've established. Now could you please patch me up before I get blood all over your nice new apartment?"

* * *

><p>In the week that followed, Gotham City was decidedly quiet. Its underworld, however, was not.<p>

With both Falcone and Maroni dead, slaughtered in a day no less, the underworld stood at a temporary standstill. Few wanted to take over either operation, for fear of being targeted next. And those who did squabbled amongst themselves, tearing off scraps of the criminal empires that so dominated the downtrodden city. Alliances were forged and broken. Deals were rescinded. Lives were taken; rivals offing one another in the great abscence left by their leaders.

It was chaos.

In the span of only a week, Falcone's criminal empire was a shadow of its former self. Maroni's gang wasn't even a ghost; with the death of their leader the disloyal had fled, and those who remained either slaughtered one another in the name of their former leader, or realized that their operation was no longer worth sustaining.

The Undertaker hung over them all like a shadow; no one knew when-or where-he'd strike next.

Amidst this insanity Fish Mooney, biding her time patiently-who'd waited for her opportuny-came to power. Her ascent was a quiet one; she turned factions against one another, let them fight it out, and then, when all the dust had cleared, she was the one standing on top. It was a tenuous hold, one that could be broken with the right amount of leverage. In the end, she came under attack as well. Someone began targeting her men in back alleys; quiet, silent assasinations became commonplace.

Criminals were killing one another. Step one in his three-part plan. This was only the beginning. The second phase was nearly upon them; what happened in the next few days would decide everything. Gotham had no way of knowing that it dangled on a knifes edge; tip too far, and he'd just wipe it off the map. But if they emerged from the chaos, better, stronger, without the criminal element to influence them...

Then, what had been an innocuous trip for groceries turned into something else entirely.

It was supposed to be a routine walk for supplies. He'd healed nicely over the last seven days; once his chakra had returned his wounds virtually vanished. Revealing his identity to Barbara had not come without a cost; she was still struggling to accept that her old friend-the one who'd helped her best her addictions-had become such a hardened killer. Her best friend. He trusted her to keep his secret, but things had grown...strained a bit after his house visit. Still, she'd passed him a few interesting leads through her contacts. The streets were safer because of her; even if she was a little jaded about it.

Penguin had been useful as well, though he was still trapped in his soulless Edo Tensei. The man seemed to be in a state of constant depression, whatever ambitions he'd once aspired to now little more than a shadow of their former self. He'd helped, pointing out a few holdouts of Falcone, but he didn't seem very happy about it.

On the contrary, Selina had improved by leaps and bounds. She was back to her stubborn, snarky self, but the dynamic between them had changed. The little cat burglar visited more often, sometimes even stayed the night at his place, rather than sleep in the streets.

He suspected she knew that he was trying to adopt her, but, he hadn't told her yet. In only a few days the paperwork would go through-just before the people gathered to tentatively vote for a new mayor. The Undertaker would visit the proceedings of course, if only to scare the hell out of the candidtates. If they proved a decent sort, like that Harvey Dent fellow he had been hearing about, dandy. If they were corrupt, well...he'd be joining Aubrey on that cross.

But today, he's stepped out in a _henge_, choosing the form of his old friend, Shikamaru Nara as a disguise. No one paid him so much as passing glance, uncaring of the lazy man strolling through the streets. Beneath his illusion, he wore his armor and mask, ready to pounce if city's dark element decided to rear its ugly head.

That was when he saw the car.

An unassuming chevy shot by, almost too fast for him to see. He almost ignored it. Then he saw the weapons. Automatic. They stuck out of the window in a ramshackle formation, and as he looked on, opened fire. Not at him, but at the citizens themselves.

"Fuck yeah!" One of them hooted. "This is Mooney's territory, now!"

Some scattered; a few weren't fast enough. Too many. An old woman got a bullet in her back for being too slow. A husband and wife dropped ahead of him-their bodies riddled with bullets. Their little girl, maybe twelve-thirteen?-years old, yelped and ducked, not yet registering what'd happend. In that instant, Naruto saw Bruce all over again. He stepped backwards into the shadows and dropped the henge.

It was only for a moment, but in that moment, the car veered towards the girl. The driver and his passengers were hooting wildly, cackling like a bunch of demented imbeciles, firing wild potshots. They didnt even see the girl trying to get out of the way-or perhaps they did, and were simply playing a twisted game of cat and mouse with her. Beneath the mask, his eyes flashed yellow as he drew upon what little natural energy that the City of Gotham still possessed, hardening his body for what was to come.

He barrelled out of the alley, interposing himself between the chevy and the girl at the last instant.

_CA-RRUUUNCH!_

Bending metal filled his ears, the sheer momentum of the impact staggering him back a step. The driver died instantly as the car folded forward, crushing his face like a grapefruit. A violent surge of lightning chakra ensured that the rest of the car's occupants joined him shortly thereafter. His lips twisted furiously beneath the mask. Sick bastards...how dare they do such a thing!

"Um...

The Undertaker blinked back at her, frowning at the girl he'd just saved. He was only vaguely aware of the car pressing down on his outstretched limb, of the fact that he'd stepped in to save an innocent life. A flick of his wrist and the sedan tumbled backwards, landing on its roof. Straightening, he stared down at the blond in confusion. Her bespectacled face gazed back up at him. Naruto rose slowly, frowning. He felt as if he knew this girl; though he'd never met her before.

"Who...are you?"

"Harleen," she murmurred softly.

"Harleen Quinzel."

* * *

><p>"You're impossible."<p>

"Heard that one before." Naruto scoffed as he flopped into a chair. He tacitly ignored Barbara's scathing glare. "So, what'll it be this time? Are you going to reprimand me for going out in daylight? Or am I to be blamed for saving an innocent life?" He didn't need the mask to know that she was staring bloody red daggers at him; when she was going to realize he wasn't going to slip up again? Maybe she was mad that he'd gone and all but saved Harleen's life. There was something...odd about that one. Something he couldn't put his finger on. He'd taken her to an aunt in the city, but something told him he'd be hearing from the little blonde again.

That look in her eyes...it'd come dangerously close to worship. Ow!

He hissed as Barbara swatted him with a paper. "God, you're mean."

"You didn't get milk."

"Women." he groused.

"Speaking of which, like you've got some competion." Barbara said, poking him.

"How so?"

"Here." she poked at him with the early morning newspaper, deftly, he plucked it out of the air. "Front page."

On the cover it told of the deaths of a number of Fish Mooney's men down in south Arkham. What surprised him was that the weapon of choice had been a tombstone. Putting aside the prodigous amount of strength it must've taken to rip a grave from the ground, it probably took even more to beat someone to death with it. Still, he would've attested that to the last of the Viper serum. But witnesses spoke of a masked man in grey and blue, a vigilante. Someone with incredible strength and speed.

Then there was the note left at the scene of the crime. What was it, Latin? That was a dead language.

_Requiescat en pace._

"Calls himself, the Gravewalker." he murmurred, reading. "Catchy name. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Sounds like a copycat." she offered.

"Maybe." he folded the paper and stood up, donning his mask. "Either way...

...I wan't to meet him."

Her head cocked aside, long tresses bouncing from the motion. "Um...are you sure that's a good idea?"

He gave a simple glance.

"Not at all. But I'm doing it anyway. Keep an eye on Selina, dattebayo."

"Just...

He paused, shooting her a glance.

"Just be careful, alright?" she was looking at him with such concern that he nearly turned around. "I've lost enough friends to this city." Her words held him. Rooted him. Maybe, just maybe-no. Naruto shook himself as hard as he dared without giving it away. He'd put that behind him. Taking care of an orphan was one thing. Actually allowing himself to do more, be more..feel more...

Shaking himself anew, he grunted an acknowledgement and walked out.

"I'm always careful."

* * *

><p>Finding the Gravewalker was surprisingly easy.<p>

He chose a random rooftop in Fish Mooney's territory at night, and waited. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. Still he waited, perched like a gargoyle upon the rooftop. Mercifully, no crimes occurred while he waited. The sky was growing lighter now. In a few hours, it would be dawn, soon. Perhaps he'd wasted a night on patrol after all.

There.

Naruto blinked in surprise, his eyes widening as a flicker of movement detached itself from the street below. They moved like a shadow, scrambling from one perch to another. Silent. Deadly. Dangerous. He watched in fascination, following from a distance. They chose their targets carefully, and when they found them, they struck without pause or mercy. A gang of misbegotten thugs-harassing a poor woman. They were pulling at her with obvious intent, threatening all manner of things as they tugged at her clothes.

And they killed them.

The Gravewalker dropped like a wraith, a pair of short-swords slashing mercilessly. They killed two before they even landed. The remaining three turned, but even as they did, they reached behind their back, pulling off the slim burden they seemed to have been carrying. The woman, freed from their clutches, babbled her thanks and scrambled away. Coming closer, Naruto saw what the item was. Not a grave. Not this time.

A katana.

With supernatural strength they raised it and struck. It cracked down on the thugs with frightening speed and strength, killing two. The third scrambled away as Naruto dropped down to join the Gravewalker, squealing like a struck pig. The Undertaker caught him with a knife as he fled, nailing him squarely within the spine. He was dead before he hit the streets.

"Well," he murmurred. "That was easy."

Gravewalker was surprisingly...smaller than he'd expected.

For starters, he was most certain a _she;_ her slim body clad in dark grays and blue leathers of dubious origins. And was that a cape? He didn't do capes. He coud clearly see the lower half of her face, while the upper half hid behind a matter grey cowl that clung to her face like a second and sheltered her hair. As if she were openly flaunting her identity, hinting ,at who she might be. Foolish. Then there, on her chest, he saw what looked like the emblem of a tombstone. Ah, it was her. So much for doubting her surname.

This was Gravewalker.

"So," he said, approaching behind her. "No grave this time? Just plain ol' assassination. Nice."

She spun with a hiss, slashing at him. He swatted the sword away, sending it clattering down the street. That didn't seem to deter her.

"You stole my kill!"

"Hey, I'm not here to fight_-gah!"_

"He was mine!"

He stepped back, blocking as she swung; and felt a bone fracture as he caught her strike. Holding her actually took a good deal of strength!

_What?!_

"Alright, hotshot." he growled, rubbling at his arm, the bone mending even as he touched at the limb. "You wanna play? Lets play." They collided violently as he abandoned defense, his hand locking around her cowl, hers, his mask. Impossibly, he found that he couldn't tear himself free; not without losing the mask. She seemed to realize that the same terms applied to her; because she drew back, her lips pursed into a thin line as she considered-and discarded-the idea of struggling.

"You show me yours, I'll show you mine." she hissed. "Undertaker."

"You know of me."

"Know of you?" she growled as they grappled. "You inspired _me!"_ She swept his legs but he twisted, wrestling her down to the street. "Someone who took the fight to the bastards-to this city-that took my mother!" She was strong, unbelievably so. "Still, that man was mine to kill." the Gravewalker cooled as he held her. "Your interference wasn't neccessary."

"Maybe."

With his full strength, he was able to pin her. Just barely. They wrestled a moment longer before she finally yielded, maintaing her grasp on his mask. "Huh. You're better than I thought."

"I'm flattered."

"So, do we have a deal?"

"Fair enough." It didn't matter if she saw his face; he'd just henge up a new one the next day. Hers, however, was a source of intrigue for him. Fascination, even. He'd only ever known one woman to possess that level of bone-crushing strength. That someone else possessed such an ability was beyond worrisome. He wanted-no, needed-to know the identity of this intrepid crime fighter. It couldn't possibly be someone from his era, it wasn't possible. But curiosity compelled him.

They yanked as one and rolled away. Naruto's heart stopped, right then and there.

He was looking at _her._

"No...

He found himself look at a pink-haired girl, almost eighteen years of age. Bright blue eyes-_his eyes?!-_stared back at him in confusion, her pale skin suggesting she seldom saw the light of day. She looked almost exactly like her mother sans those blue, burning orbs and where one to look closely enough, they might see the faintest touch of whiskers on her cheek, so faint as to suggest that they'd faded with age. Perhaps in time, they'd dissapear altogether. His brain threatened to burst, and it took all he had to hold himself together.

"Huh." she quipped, planting a hand on her hip. "Older than I expected."

"No names?"

"I...think I already know yours."

"Oh?" she planted a hand on her hip, her blue eyes flashing green with defiance. "Try me then, pops."

"Your name is _Sachi." _The name Sakura had chosen for her. He'd wanted something grander, but she'd insisted.

Her eyes widened, but not with fear or recognition as he'd expected. "Oh, you're good." she smirked. "Been scoping me out?"

"Something like that." the words tasted like ash in his mouth.

"Alright, my turn. You're obviously Japanese, so...Asuma?" she tossed the bait out, waiting to see if he'd bite. Naruto scoffed, he didn't have to feign contempt to feel the dissapointment.

"Not even close."

Inwardly, his mind was racing. This wasn't possible. Shouldn't be possible. He was looking at a ghost. At a child, who'd died after so many weeks in his wife's belly. The idea that she was alive, here, standinb before him and trading barbs was almost too much to bear. She didn't even recognize him. But he recognized her. And how could he not?

_He was staring at his dead daughter._

**A/N: GASP! Who is the Gravewalker?! Is she Sakura?! NOPE. Is she...Naruto's daughter?! Is that even possible?! Remember, stranger things have happened in the DC universe but this...if it were true, would take one hell of an explanation, no? Weeeell, we'll just have to wait and see if its true, no? Sorry for the evil cliffhanger, but hey, that's just my style. I **

**That aside, Its been fun thus far, h****asn't it? I've been away from the world of Batman for ages, but there's just something that draws you in. For those who wonder about the Gravewalker, think of her as an assassin. Not an Ezio or Altair-esque character per se, but, someone who doesn't like to be flashy; one who gets the job done. Someone also mentioned the idea of taking Naruto's brand of justice to the rest of the DC universe once he's done with Gotham. Let's just say...**

**...I'm considering it.**

**So...in the immortal words of Atlas...**

**...Review...Would You Kindly...? And of course, enjoy the preview! We get to meet a familiar face! And a new one as well! Hope ya'll like it!**

**(Preview)**

_"Baka."_

_"Hey, I'm not stupid. Between the two of us, this'll be a piece of cake."_

_Gravewalker gave him a stoney stare, looking away from the mob of gangsters and murderers below. From their rooftop vantage he could see her body silhouetted against the moon; outlining her slender form-her face-before his eyes. Was it really his daughter under that mask? He wondered. It didn't make sense. Sakura was dead. He'd run extensive tests on her body, to make certain it was her. Granted, she was a medical master, so she might've fooled him somehow. But the idea that this was his daughter, his progeny, his child, it...it was too much to wrap his mind around. Ultimately, it presented him with another, uglier question._

_Why?_

_If Sakura had faked her death and took their child away, she would have had a reason. But what was that reason? It all made sense, in a way. Gravewalker told him she'd taken the name because she'd been born in a grave as a child. That only deepened the mystery of Sakura and this girl who maybe-just maybe!-was his child. She was certainly old enough, and her appearance was a perfect cross between him and his bubblegum beauty. Yet it still made him wonder:_

_Why would she want to leave him?_

_Had Sakura forgotten him somehow, or was something far more sinsiter at work._

_"You're insane. You know that, right?" Her words jerked him out of his reverie, blessedly bringing him back to the present. All she received for her words was a shrug. No. He wouldn't tell her. "Bastard down there calls himself Hellraiser. Claims he can raise demons to do his bidding." her mask tilted toward an individual wearing red, walking amidst the looters, a tiny note of bemusement entered her voice. "Don't know where _he _came from, but pretty sure he's not a friend. Must be the color."_

_"Like you're not a friend?" he sniped._

_"Maybe I've got a thing for grizzled old men in a mask." she shot back. "Must've been your dazzling good looks that converted me."_

_"I'm not that old-urk." Naruto fought the urge to vomit as his mind proccessed the words. His daughter. His daughter was hitting on him. Blech! Wrong! Wrong wrong, wroooooong!_

_"I've been called worse."_

_"Hey, that wasn't an insul-_

_Before she could finish, he jumped down into the chaos with all the subtlety he possessed. Which was to say, very, very loudly._

**_"SUFFER ME NOW, WORMS!_**

**R&R! =D**


	5. Broadcast

**A/N: Alright! After being pestered for so long I've finally dug my claws into this idea, the first NarutoxGotham crossover. Now y'see, I didn't know where or when to place it at first, didn't want to alter too much. But then it hit me. What does Gotham have no short of? Corruption. Now, screwing around with Batman is one thing. But messing with Gotham the show...**

**...now that's a whole new can of worms. Off we go into the deep once more! And once again a warning; A LOT of people are going to die in this fic. It will be violent. There will be blood. Sorrow, a fair bit of death. And YES the title refers to the exact song by the masterful and late Johnny Cash, which I recommend for this chapter, Hurt. Which I do not own! And WOW! That's a ton of votes on the poll! Keep at it, peoplz! The pairing will be decided soon! And lets clarify something. Naruto is not immortal. He can die. He heals at a ridiculous rate, but he's only human.**

**Lets see if you recognize this line, hmm? As another note, this story is taking a hard right, branching away from the television show! ALSO! No hating on Sakura folks! To the lone anonymous soul who did nothing but spout that senseless hate, you shall be ignored. Now, onto the story! In case you haven't noticed, this chapter was heavily influenced by V for Vendetta...**

**...hope you enjoy!**

_"The multiplying villanies of nature do swarm upon him. Disdaining fortune with his brandish'd steel, which smoked with bloody execution..._

_~(Shakespeare.)_

**Broadcast**

_What have I done?_

_What have I done? What have I done? What have I done, what have I donewhathaveidonewhathaveidonewhathaveidone WHAT HAVE I DONE? These thoughts bound around in my head like wild stallions, now-chomping at the bit for release. Desperate to find answers where there are none, an explanation for a reality that shouldn't exist. It. Just. Doesn't. Make. Sense._

_Godamnit, it doesn't make any sense!_

_My hands tremble as I pen these words at my desk, though whether they shake from excitement or anxiety, I know not. My baby girl. She's alive. She's everything I -we- hoped she'd be. So strong. So alive. Sachi. The light of my life, reborn in my daughter thought to b lost. But with this newfound joy comes questions. So many questions._

_For starters, how, by the nine circles of hell, is she even here? Sakura was dead when I found her. Dead. Cold. A corpse can't give birth. But was it really her body? Could she have faked her death? The other possibility is...decidedly less pleasant._

_I tried, _did,_ everything to bring her back after the Edo Tensei failed; even warping reality. Did I somehow create an alternate dimension? A universe in which she survived long enough to give birth? One, in which she all but left me? Maybe its something less grand. Perhaps, after our fight, she decided it was time to strike out on her own. We loved each other, but, we'd never seen eye to on some things. Towards the end, she'd wanted to leave Gotham, find a new life. _

_Did she survive-leave me-only to die, forgotten, in some darkened corner?_

_Is Sachi real? Is she truly my daughter? Or is she an imposter-hard to believe with that strength-an assassin sent by my enemies, someone imbued with venom-like strength meant to make me lower my guard? I don't know. Only a handful knew Sakura was pregnant, and of those few, most are dead. Barbara might've been aware, but she'd never rat on me. Who would try to get to me like that? Fish? She's big now, but back then, I don't think I even_ knew _her. So many questions._

_Too many._

_I left Sachi on that rooftop, claiming to have other business that night. Oddly enough, she didn't protest my abrupt departure, or lack of a given name. Perhaps she knows how to find me somehow. That is...troubling. I don't know what to make of it. Of her. __In the end, I'm left with more and more questions. __I suppose I'll learn the truth sooner or later. Hopefully, it won't break me. But in the meantime..._

_...I have a little show to put on._

* * *

><p>Naruto pulled on his armor piece by precise piece.<p>

First came the black and red chakra-reinforced leathers and its cowl-followed by the greaves and vambraces. One by one they locked onto his limbs, sheltering his scarred appendages from view. Then he tugged on the vest, heavier this time, thanks to the unusual parcel he had strapped to it earlier in the morn. It was well into the afternoon now; he could still see the shards of sunlight stabbing through his penthouse window blocked only by the mercifully shuttered blinds. It had taken him all of last night and most of this morning to perfect this particular mixture, and he was rather averse to it blowing up in his face.

Finally, he donned the mask, hiding himself away from the world.

Selina lay asleep in the other room, placed under a slumbering genjutsu-better safe than sorry-and under the constant watch of three clones. No one would be taking her. Not this time. And Barbara knew precious little of him, not enough to place herself in any real danger. With that thought in mind, he reached into himself, found his emotions, and flicked them off.

In that instant, until he turned his feelings back on, Uzumaki Naruto ceased to be. He was the Dagger of Gotham, the sword in her right hand, shield in her left.

He was the Undertaker once more.

His hand flicked out, drawing a small, disposable cell phone from his coat pocket. He dialed the lone number to which it was set, pinging an old friend. Well, maybe that was the wrong word. In any case, he trusted this particular individual enough to carry out their task without question. After alls, he'd learned many things since coming to this day and age but there were certain areas, such as technology of the modern world, that were best left in the hands of those that knew them best. The individual to whom he

"Hawke?" the codename rolled off his lips easily enough. "Its time. Wait until I start the show." He received a muted acknowledgement and snapped the flip phone-an old dinosaur by modern standards-shut with a flick of the wrist. With a merry little whistle, he crushed the device to powder in his hand-he had countless more-made a hand seal and flashed off towards the Gotham Television Network.

It was time for the second act to begin.

* * *

><p>The clerk was completely unprepared for his arrival.<p>

When he stepped out of that elevator, covered in the blood of the guards who'd tried-and failed-to stop him, she simply started screaming.

Naruto said nothing as he stepped through the swinging doors, he simply opened his coat, revealing the "parcel" attached to his chest. Poor girl, she nearly fainted deady away, her cries trailing off into hopeless silence once she saw the _C4_ strapped to him; an immutable series of explosives tied by a cord via a detonator. One now held aloft in his hand, his thumb a hairsbreadth from pressing the trigger. The blank slate of his mask reflected no emotion; that eerie red visor as silent and sinister as ever to the unsuspecting lass. And when he spoke, his voice sounded like the devil himself.

_"We are oft to blame in this-'tis too much proved. That with devotion's visage and pious action, we do sugar o'er the devil himself."_

"W-W-What does that mean?" she gasped out, trying not to stare at the trigger in his hand. The masked man tilted his head, as though only just now noticing her. He strode forward and she cringed, instinctually trying to reach down and slap the panic button beneath her desk. Nothing happened. Why wasn't it working?! When she looked up, he was still there but closer now, towering over her like a silent, bloody wraith.

"Would you kindly direct me to the main broadcast room, dear girl?" he asked.

A trembling finger pointed down the hall; she daren't lie, not when he could blow the whole building with a push of the button.

"Th-That way...

"Thank you." he nodded civilly.

The moment he left, she frantically began palming the button over and over again.

* * *

><p><em>"GOOD EVENING, PEOPLE OF GOTHAM!"<em>

"What the?!" James Gordon snarled aloud, nearly leaping clear out of his seat as the computer before him suddenly and inexplicably lit with the image of the Undertaker. Across headquarters every phone was suddenly ringing off the hook, dozens of that same, insufferable voice leaping from every phone, receiver, and screen in the vicinity. He felt his throat run dry.

Needless to say, all bloody hell broke loose.

Police headquarters was suddenly a sea of shouts and swears and other less pleasant behaviours, even a smattering of hoots from a couple of the newer, more naieve recruits. James half-expected Harvey to shout the newcomers down; instead, the older man kept his keen focus locked on the screen.

"You seeing this?" Harvey muttered beneath his breath.

The blank, emotionless slate of the Undertaker's mask stared back at them from the main screen-doubtlessly across countless others in the city-the red/black facade of its visage reflecting no emotion, offering none. He stared at them for a long moment, saying nothing, his body outlined against a deep, mournful cerulean curtain. The striking color offset the scarlet and ebon he wore, making for a striking palette of mixed colors as well as an eerie backdrop lent unto his next words. Because when he _did_ speak, his words help the detective captive. Rooted him.

No doubt they did many others.

_"I would like,"_ he began slowly, his voice reverberating grandly behind the hollow mask of slate and steel, "_To apologize for this unfortunate inconvenience on your behalf. I do, like many of you, enjoy the comforts that are brought on by the television, phones, even the common radio. There is a certain security to be found in the familiar. A sense of ease. Comfort, if you will. I, too, enjoy them as much as the next man. Which is why I must express my most sincere condolences to you now, people of Gotham-_

* * *

><p>Barbara felt her mouth drop open.<p>

Her jaw parted with an audible click, the remote falling from her now-numbed fingers to clatter harmlessly onto the floor of her apartment. She barely noticed it at all. Part of her wanted to turn the damnd thing off; to ignore-reject-what here eyes were telling her. _Look again,_ her mind told them. _We are!_ Came the response. _Its real!_ So very real. The emotion in those words-the anger, the thin veneer of civility masking it all; each of these things laid out tiny clues to his intentions. Clues she could read. Clues that left her with an awful feeling in her gut.

Every instant that Naruto stood there, conferssing to hijacking the airwaves only made it worse.

"Naruto," she muttered in disbelief. "What are you doing...

Oh, they would be having words about this!

_So many words!_

* * *

><p><em>-do know for the duration of this message, those devices belong to me. Your televisions, computers, phones, your radio, even the very internet itself; all are bound by my will. I am by no means a master of technology, but, I know those who are. Suffice it to say that your lives are mine for the moment."<em>

Gordon cursed and flicked open his phone. Sure enough, a video file-one he'd never accessed-was playing. The Undertaker stared back at him, conveying the same message. Smug bastard. And still, he continued.

_"Some of you may balk at what I have done-indeed, what I am doing at this very moment. Why is he this? What right does he have to hijack our lives?"_ Sure enough, a gloved hand rose in quiet supplications. _"I assure you, this is only a temporary measure. When I have said what I have come here to say, control of your devices will be returned to you, forthwith. But first let us sit down and have a little chat. There are those, I'm sure who would prefer I did not speak. No doubt even now orders are being shouted into telephones-_

* * *

><p><em>"<em>What do you mean you won't go?!"

"Exactly what I said." Renee stubbornly folded both arms before her bosom, standing firm even as her boss shouted down at her over her desk. When his imposing bulk did nothing to sway her the hefty man turned his attention-and his wrath-onto poor Crispus. The smaller man blanched.

"Talk some sense into her, Allen!"

Little kissup caved instantly.

"Renee, think about what you're doing," he tried to position himself so he was flanking her, but she spun away from him with a hiss. "This is your career we're talking about...

Montoya pointedly ignored Crispus -the man who was like a brother to her- ignoring even her chief even as he shouted at her, spittle flying from his mouth. Instead she held up her badge, contemplating it. This was her life. Her legacy. Her redemption. She fought and cursed and clawed to get where she was now, to become something other than that junkie she'd once been. Now, she was throwing it all away. And on what? A whim? A hunch? She didn't know. Damn, she wasn't even _certain._ What if she was wrong? What if he wouldn't listen to her?

But she knew when she was playing for the wrong team. In the past few weeks the Undertaker had done more good than he had ill-all the while she had watched and wondered what he was playing at. In the beginning it had been baffling; she couldn't fathom what might inspire someone to go to such lengths. How was one to even _understand_ the methods and motivations of a madman. But with time, came that understanding; it was impossible, but she found herself beginning to see a method to his madness. The Undertaker didn't kill innocents. No, he only went after the guilty. Falcone? Guilty. Maroni? _Definitely._

_"I am ordering you to get in that van and apprehend this man!"_

And now her superiors wanted her to bring in the man who was doing so much good for the city? No. Actually, scratch that. _Hell_ no.

Scowling, she threw her badge down on the desk.

"Then I quit."

* * *

><p><em>-and men with guns will soon be on their way. No doubt they intent to clap me in irosn and cart me off to the brig." <em>The Undertaker stifled a short, sarcastic laugh and shook his head, the cowl swinging sadly from side to side as he chuckled._ "Why? Because, why the truncheon may be used in lieu of the conversation, words will always retain their power. It was with words that this city was build, promises of new life and power made in corners and dark rooms that it was born. It is with words that this city has fallen. And it is with not just action, but _words,_ that Gotham will be reborn. Purged. Because there is something terribly wrong with this fair city, and I, for one, have grown weary of it."_

Gordon didn't doubt for a moment that Major Crimes was having an absolute fit about this. Perhaps that was the Undertaker's intent. Perhaps that was why he was doing this in the first place; knowingly wreaking sheer havoc on the city. Proving that nothing-no one-could stop him.

_"Some, among you may be wondering about the abrupt demise of Carmine Falcone and Salvatore Maroni in recent days. I am here to confirm that, yes, t'was I who killed them. Just as I plan to kill many more. But that is not why I have called you here. On the contrary."_ He turned in the screen, beginning to pace. The camera followed, tracking with him, capturing his every movement, every moment. _"Others wonder if I am some sort of old deity, a holy man sent to cleanse this city of its sins. I am not, that man. I am merely a symbol. An icon._

_"People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people. For too long has this city and its crime pushed you down, oppressed you, abused you, used you! No more!"_ His voice cut off sharply, a deep breah being taken. When next he spoke his words were quiet, but that burning passion had been tempered into silent, smoldering steel. _"Cruely and injustice. Intolerance and oppresision, abuses and misuse of power. These words offer no just the means to their meaning, but that which this city has stood for. But no more. There are others._

He stepped forward now, that eerie slit of his visor filling the screen.

_"In recent days I've come to realize an immutable fact; it will take more than my hand to change this city. It will take the hand of others. Some like me, others...not. You have heard of the Gravewalker, no? She is but a symptom of the corruption of this city, a citizen standing up for what is true and right in this world! There will be more. The corrupt will pay; the innocent, survive. __We will not stop. We will not halt. We will not _cease. _Will not desist! _

Harvey pushed backwards in his chair, pinching at his nose. "Guy likes to hear himself talk." Beneath that bitter remark James heard the truth of it, saw it in the lines of his partner's face. Something in those words had resonated somewhere, deep within the cynical codger. But what? As he returned his attention to the screen the Undertaker finally-mercifully-seemed to be wrapping up.

_"So, if you feel as I feel, see what I see, seek, as I seek, then I invite you, the people of Gotham -my fellow Gothamites!- to stand with me, a year from today before the Capital building, on the anniversary of the death of Thomas and Martha Wayne, on the day your new mayor is to be elected. To the rest I say only thus; watch. Watch, as I -we!- purge this place of the vicious and virulent violence violating and vouchsafing this city! I am but a sheperd for the innocent; he who leaves the corrupt to...burn. And they will burn. Like this one._

He reached off screen, pulling someone, a pasty-looking man into view. He tried to speak, tried to say something, but the Undertaker silenced him with a heavy blow to the face.

_"This is Matthew Clark." _He said, by way of introduction._ "He is a rapist. Murderer of several children, all little girls. Why, just last week, he raped and killed a fourth. Yet somehow, he was never convicted, never given a trial for the three he tormented, nor his most recent victim. Somehow, he was given a job at this station, is still allowed to walk free and inflict pain on others. This city will not judge him; but I shall. He is guilty. And he will burn with the rest."_

In a flourish he spun away, dropped the portly man and left the screen behind, the camera falling back to expose his surroundings. Revealing the bombs once wired into his chest, now laid firmly on a nearby desk, its timer slowly ticking toward zero. The broadcast room stood wreathed in flames around him; overturned tables and uprooted floor offering only a hint as to the chaos that must've begun and ended here. And there on the floor, trapped. Bound and gagged. More bodies. More people. James focused on them-fixated on the timer as it ticked its way towards oblivion. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five...Four...Three...Two...

One.

Somewhere in the distance, his voice resounded. The words made James feel cold inside. Because they were different. He did not say "Justice is Coming" as was often his mottiff. No, he said something else.

_"Justice is here."_

There was a final, merciless beep as the timer reached zero.

And the screen exploded into static.

* * *

><p>"You. Are. Insane."<p>

"Am I?"

Naruto laughed quietly as he lounged on a rooftop later that evening. He wasn't surprised that Gravewalker had managed to find him; if anything he was amazed it had taken so long. All he had to do was find a sizeable group of goons and wait. Fish Mooney appeared to be consolidating her forces after today's..message. He knew someone like Sachi-if it really was her-wouldn't turn down an opportunity like this.

Sure enough, she'd come to him. He was suddenly intensely grateful for the mask; because it hid his pained expression. Blowing up a building? Easy. Talking with someone who just might be a _loong_-lost daughter? Not so much. He turned as she dropped down beside him, moving soundlessly as ever. Her lips were pursed in an angry scowl and he knew at once she was upset. Selina would probably be upset too, once she finally had a chance to confront him. But for now, he had to deal with a super-powered, and very angry, teenager.

"You blew up a fucking building!"

"Filled with wicked people." he pointed out, unmoving in his perch, rooted like a gargoyle to the edge of the roof. "I evacuated the innocent beforehand. Those who died in the blast deserved their fate."

"Murderer." it was a damnation.

"And you aren't?" he challenged. "Did you not murder those men last night? Do you want to think of the families they might have had? The sons? The daughters?"

There was a pointed, barbed silence between the two of them.

"That was a low blow."

"Its the truth." Naruto snapped, turning his attention back to the scene unfolding below. "Every life I take is liable to make someone hate me even more. So long as I'm doing the right thing, I can live with it. If families come after me for my misdeeds, if they try to kill me, then so be it. I'm doing good here; even if my methods are heavy-handed." And he knew that they were. But, as with all things, there was a grain of truth to them, a reality that could not be ignored. If you locked a criminal up, he could escape to do more evil. If you killed a criminal however, well, dead men told no tales. They certainly didn't go around raping innocents.

It was a twisted logic, to be sure. But it was his. And it helped him sleep at night.

"Stupid." Gravewalker-Sachi!-muttered again.

"Hey, I'm not stupid. Between the two of us, this'll be a piece of cake."

"I...wasn't talking about that."

"I know." he sighed sadly.

Gravewalker gave him a stoney stare, looking away from the mob of gangsters and murderers below. From their rooftop vantage he could see her body silhouetted against the moon; outlining her slender form-her face-before his eyes. Was it really his daughter under that mask? He wondered. It didn't make sense. Sakura was dead. He'd run extensive tests on her body, to make certain it was her. Granted, she was a medical master, so she might've fooled him somehow. But the idea that this was his daughter, his progeny, his child, it...it was too much to wrap his mind around. Ultimately, it presented him with another, uglier question.

Why?

If Sakura had faked her death and took their child away, she would have had a reason. But what was that reason? It all made sense, in a way. Gravewalker told him she'd taken the name because she'd been born in a grave as a child. That only deepened the mystery of Sakura and this girl who maybe-just maybe!-was his child. She was certainly old enough, and her appearance was a perfect cross between him and his bubblegum beauty. Yet it still made him wonder:

Why would she want to leave him?

Had Sakura forgotten him somehow, or was something far more sinsiter at work?

"You're insane. You know that, right?" Those repeated words jerked him out of his reverie, blesssedly bringing him back to the present. All she received for her words was a shrug. No. He wouldn't tell her. "Bastard down there calls himself Hellraiser. Claims he can raise demons to do his bidding." her mask tilted toward an individual wearing red, walking amidst the looters, a tiny note of bemusement entered her voice. "Don't know where he came from, but pretty sure he's not a friend. Must be the color."

"Like you're not a friend?" he sniped.

"Maybe I've got a thing for grizzled old men in a mask." she shot back. "Must've been your dazzling good looks that converted me."

"I'm not that old-urk." Naruto fought the urge to vomit as his mind proccessed the words. His daughter. His daughter was hitting on him. Blech! Wrong! Wrong wrong, wroooooong!

"I've been called worse."

"Hey, that wasn't an insul-

Before she could finish, he jumped down into the chaos with all the subtlety he possessed. Which was to say, very, very loudly.

**"SUFFER ME NOW, WORMS!**

**A/N: GASP! Naruto blew up a building! A little heavy-handed but hey, we've known from the start that a fair amount of death-dealing would be involved here. And Montoya's gone and given up her post in Major Crimes; wonder what'll come of that, eh? Now, I know there's a fair amount of episodes I haven't watched, what with being dirt poor and such, but I intend to see them soon, if only to get a better idea of the characters. **

**Things are coming to a head!**

**That aside, Its been fun thus far, h****asn't it? I've been away from the world of Batman for ages, but there's just something that draws you in. For those who wonder about the Gravewalker, think of her as an assassin. Not an Ezio or Altair-esque character per se, but, someone who doesn't like to be flashy; one who gets the job done. Someone also mentioned the idea of taking Naruto's brand of justice to the rest of the DC universe once he's done with Gotham. Let's just say...**

**...I'm considering it.**

**So...in the immortal words of Atlas...**

**...Review...Would You Kindly...? Sadly, no preview this time! 'Tis a surprise!**

**R&R! =D**


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